


The Bird and The Bull

by GlamFolk



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: And like, Arranged Marriage, F/M, Fluff, Romance, and some melo drama, but like, cheesy shit, cute stuff, dumb kids in love, guys theres a star scene in it, i go all out, laying in starlight bitches, may change rating, omg, star crossed lovers, that good cheesy shit
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-09-01
Updated: 2018-08-31
Packaged: 2018-12-22 09:39:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 25,915
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11964726
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GlamFolk/pseuds/GlamFolk
Summary: When Petyr finds the natural son of the late King Robert, he takes him back to the Vale in hopes of sealing the Stark and Baratheon name once and for all.While he schemes to raise an army, the little bird and the bull try to build something real in a world that is anything but.





	1. Chapter 1

In all her life, Sansa never thought she had met a man as handsome as he.

How Petyr had found him, she didn't know, but the moment she saw her new fiancé, she didn't very much care. Standing there, looking into his eyes – blue, blue like the sky over the sea – she felt giddiness grow within her stomach, the excitement of a young girl she had thought died long ago.

He looked nervous- he shifted his weight from foot to foot, unable to hold eye contact with her for more than a few seconds. Petyr was the first to speak.

"Funny, how these things work out, isn't it?"

Sansa snapped back to reality, and turned to Petyr. "What do you mean?"

"I mean," he gestured to the man. "You will marry Robert's son after all,"

He flinched at that last bit, and Sansa saw a little fury in his eyes. She stepped forward, close enough to reach out and grab his hand.

"Would you walk with me?" She asked, gently running her thumb along the top of his hand.

"As m'lady commands," he finally said. Sansa smiled at him – the smile she had learned to wear in uncomfortable situations. Feeling him clutch her hand tighter as they moved past the moon door, Sansa felt her unease fade.

She took him to the battlements atop the castle, and leaned against the stone, looking out into the endless expanse of the sky and mountains. The wind blew her hair into her face – it was almost red again. He stood there, stoic as ever, before speaking up.

"I met your sister," he said. Sansa perked up and turned to him. Her mouth dropping.

"Where?" she asked, with an urgent tone.

"It was on the way to the Wall. She was dressed like a boy – I don't know where she is now. I think the Hound-"

"The Hound has my sister?" she interrupted. A million scenarios flashed through her mind, terrible images- while Arya had been a nuisance in their childhood, Sansa found herself missing her little sister more than ever. At night she would long for the days when she was four and Arya two, and they shared a bed. She never felt as safe as she did then, and regretted the day she declared she was too old to not have her own bed.

"Sans- m'lady, Arya…Arya's strong. She's a fighter, whatever you think may have happened to her-"

"You can call me Sansa," she interrupted, looking back into his eyes. They were so blue- how could eyes be so blue?

His face softened, and for a moment Sansa thought he was going to kiss her. But he continued. "Sansa," he finally said. "I would bet that Arya is safe, fighting her way out of any mess she's caught in. She's tough. And lucky." He smiled, remembering how a few years ago he would have thought it impossible that a high born lady could cause as much chaos but escape with her life.

Sansa turned back to the mountains, and sighed. "I miss her. I was cruel to her, the way sisters are to each other. I wish I could take so much back," She looked down at her gloves, and made a fist with her hand. He moved next to her, resting his elbows on the battlements and looking out into the sky.

"I wish I had never left the forge," he says. "All these lords and ladies talk about claims to the throne, whose blood is royal and whose arse should be on some pointy chair, making decisions for people they don't care about," He ran his hands over his face, the tiny crackle of skin on stubble echoing.

"Politics," Sansa sighed. "How do people not grow tired of the lies and deception? It seems these days that trust is more rare than dragons,"

"I heard there are dragons, in the east," he smiled. Sansa couldn't help by smile back.

The wind blew fast and hard, almost knocking him off his balance. He reached out instinctively for her arm, but immediately pulled away.

"I'm sorry," he said. Sansa felt her chest deflate. It had been so long since her boundaries were respected. So often had she been mishandled, touched against her will. She reached out, and brushed some soot off the top of his eyebrow with her thumb.

"There's no need to apologize," she said, her voice soaked in honey.

He reached up, carefully, and held her hand against his. He hand was so soft, and small against his. He looked up at her, and wondered how this lady could be the sister of the wild wolf girl he had known.

"I don't like heights," he confessed finally. Sansa giggled, and laced her fingers in between his.

"I'll take you to my favorite room then," she said. She hadn't felt this happy in ages. "The library here- it's fantastic," she began to pull him to the door but felt resistance. She looked back at him, confused.

"I…" he looked down at his feet. "I don't know my letters. Bastards don't get an education."

Sansa wanted to hit herself for being so stupid. She just assumed people knew how to read because the only people she had been surrounded by were nobles.

"Sir," she said. "You are talking to the proud bastard of Petyr Baelish."

He smiled at that, and looked up at her. "That's bullshit, Stark."

"Being a bastard is nothing to be ashamed of," she continued with the joke. "I've met some of father's friends who have enough money to buy the Iron Islands who can't read three words. If you want to learn your letters, I'll teach you. Now come along," she gripped his hand tighter, but still felt some resistance. When she turned back around, he was closer. She never noticed how black his hair was – it was beautiful.

"Sansa," he said. Her heart leapt at the sweetness in his voice. "Call me Gendry."


	2. Chapter 2

Whenever the weren't on the battlements or in the library, he was shy. Sansa noticed how he wouldn't look at her, and how he would become panicked whenever she approached him in the forge. It had been a week since she began teaching him how to read in the library, and Sansa had begun to feel a real connection with her betrothed, but in the following seven days something changed. She had first noticed it the day after he had arrived, when she had gone down to breakfast and he had hastily excused himself from the table. When she sought him out in the main hall, one of the serving girls said he had gone to the forge and had been beating the life out of some metal. For a week that was the only answer she got - he's in the forge, hammering. She was smart enough to know when someone wanted to be left alone - Gods know she had experience on that end - but she began to miss having company apart from her screaming, sickly cousin and her lecherous guardian, whose hands often found their way on her shoulder, or playing with her hair, as he waxed on about strategy and when she should be married. She had taken to rereading the books she had loved when she was younger, but her mind kept drifting off, lost in memories of snow and the soft fur of her long dead Lady. On the seventh day, when she couldn't take it anymore, she swapped out her gown for a simple linen dress and cloak and walked down to the forge.

He didn't notice her come in- he was too busy hammering away at some poor piece of metal. Sansa stood in the doorway, her eyes traveling up and down his body. He was muscular, with large hands and chest hair that traveled the length down his body. Sansa always wondered why men would work without shirts, but at this moment, she was grateful for the gendered quirk. She leaned against the doorway, watching his hands twist the hammer idly as he considered his work. He turned to the water and plunged the steel in, and Sansa watched the muscles of his back ripple as he dipped and drew it back out. Heat bloomed inside of her, and she almost lost her voice.

"You've been in here a while," she said. He jumped, startled to have heard someone. She removed her hood and walked into the forge. Her long hair was dyed black again, and pinned back into a messy knot.

"I've been..." he looked at the table and reached for his shirt. Pulling it over his head in a show of decency, but what Sansa knew as a means to have extra time to think. "...working."

"On what?" She said, letting her fingers glide over the smooth pieces of metal that lay on the table.

"Nothing. Anything," he picked up a piece and flipped it in his hands. "They're all scraps. Not anything can could be made into something useful,"

"I can talk to Lord Baelish," she said. "Perhaps he can get you what you need,"

Gendry scratched the back of his head. "We have what I need, the smith just won't let me touch it."

"Why?"

"He thinks me a nuisance. Just some lowborn dropped into his lap. No one knows about..." he trailed off, still embarrassed to meet her gaze.

"Our engagement," she finished for him.

"Right,"

Sansa nodded, and looked at the piece of metal before her. Copper shined back at her, dancing in the firelight.

"Do you only make weapons?" she asked.

"No," he said. "Helms, armor, anything a soldier needs,"

Sansa picked up a small piece of copper that had been forked at the top, with five pieces branching out away from the other. She turned to him and held it up.

"This one looks like a flower," she mused.

Gendry considered her. This Stark was so different from the one he had met on the road. Where Arya would have stepped on flowers, Sansa found their likeness in the smallest scraps. Anya's fire was hot and angry, Sansa's was warm, calm-but still had the ability to burn. Gendry had watched her play off Baelish, he wasn't as stupid as everyone thought him to be. He picked up on the ways that she would smile at him, notice those small shifts of power that lasted seconds at the longest, where the most cunning man in all of the Seven Kingdoms was at the mercy of a sixteen year old girl. She knew it, too. He could tell she didn't trust him- and before she had been introduced to him he had seen her in the main hall, pacing up and down. Stark girls always seemed like they were plotting escape.

"I could make a prettier one," he said, almost too eagerly. Sansa's eyes met his. Gods, she was beautiful. "Why have you secluded yourself in here for seven days?"

Gendry was speechless. She thought he was avoiding her. And in a way, she was half right-but not because he held any disdain for her. Rather, he was scared. The minute he saw her he was scared. He had avoided her because he didn't want to embarrass himself with his lowborn ways - Arya hadn't minded, but what of her sister? The one who loved songs and poetry and handsome men? He was a bastard, dirty with soot and shame. Working was the one thing that calmed his mind, and as he pounded away, he had been trying to think of how he could better himself. He didn't want a life at court, but something about Sansa made him want to impress her, to learn songs and know which bloody fork he had to use to eat a crab or whatever it was people with money ate. He didn't think she could want him as he was, and was mapping out a strategy to change.

"Thinking," he said. He ran his hands across his beard. "I feel safe in forges, I suppose."

Sansa nodded. "I felt safe in the Godswood, back home," she looked around the forge. It was hot, and she was sweating through her dress, but something about this place- she felt comfortable.

"Could I stay here?" she asked. "Sit while you work?"

Gendry was at a loss for words. All he could do was nod.

She smiled at him, not with one of those fake smiles that she gave Petyr. From under her arm she pulled out a book, and found a perch on the table. Ladies shouldn't sit on tables, but she wasn't a lady - not in the Vale.

"What are your reading?" Gentry asked after a beat.

"Fairytales, child's stories," she said. "Embarrassing,"

"No," he responded quickly. There was a pause as they locked eyes. He reached for the scraps on the table, and a tool to shape it.

"Would you read me some?" he asked "While I work?"

Sansa was surprised by the kindness in his voice, and turned her attention to the book in her lap. She flipped it open, and began to read.


	3. Chapter 3

Gendry had finished it.

Holding it up in the light of the forge fire, he examined his handiwork. It had taken upwards to a week, but the petals looks so delicate and effortlessly weightless. In the shine of the fire, the copper matched the color of her hair-her real hair-and the steam was thin but sturdy. Like a real rose.

It was late when he had finished polishing it, leaving the right amount of shading in the grooves between the layers. He toyed with the idea of waiting until morning to give it to her, as he was sure it would be breaking some code to seek her out at this time of night, but he honestly didn't think he could sleep if he had to go to bed without seeing her reaction.

Uneasily, he made his way to the castle, with a rough linen cloak wrapped around his shoulders. Won't be able to wear these for much longer, he thought as he opened the door to the main hall. Lords don't wear rough spun fabric. He thought of Baelish's ugly doublets and overly fine cloaks- is that what Sansa expected of him? He imaging himself looking more ridiculous than distinguished, dressed up like that. It wasn't who he was.

It is, he thought. At least now.

He made his way to the stairs leading to the library wing. It was cold inside of the castle, but Gendry felt sweat begin to form on his forehead and on his palms. Suppose she didn't like it? Suppose she laughed at it, a stupid trinket from a stupid boy. Why was he even bothering? He should turn around and go back to the forge-

"I don't WANT to go to bed!" he heard that insufferable brat, 'Sweetrobin', cry from the library doorway.

"My lord, it's late..." he heard Sansa's tired voice try to calm him. "Don't you want to be up early enough tomorrow morning so we can take the walk I promised you?"

"Let's take it now," he whined. Gendry shuffled closer to the door, peering in. "I'm the Lord of the Vale, Petyr said so. They have to do what I say,"

Sansa sighed as Sweetrobin latched himself around her waist. "My lord,"

"Come sleep with me Alayne," he cried. "I always sleep better when you're with me,"

"I'll call for the Maester," Sansa said, not acknowledging his request. "He'll give you some sweet milk...you always sleep well on sweet milk,"

"I DON'T WANT SWEET MILK!" he shrieked. Before Sansa could say anything, his tiny head swiveled towards the door.

"Who's there?" he demanded. "Identify yourself! Before I make you fly!"

Gendry quickly stuffed the rose into his breeches pocket. He entered the library cautiously, rubbing the back of his head.

"Gendry," Sansa's voice softened.

"Good evening," he said, in his best lordling voice.

"You're dirty," Robert spoke up.

"Robert!" Sansa chided. "There's no need to be rude!"

"Well he is," Robert turned back to him. "Why are you here? What do you want?"

To wring your little bird neck. "I was coming to check on the two of you," he said to Robert, before looking back up to Sansa and seeing her small smile creep through her disguise.

"We're fine," Robert stuck his tongue out. "Alan has been watching me, I don't need a stupid, dirty, babysitter."

"My lord," Sansa ducked down to his level. "I think it's time you go to bed,"

"Come with me!" Robert said. Behind him, Gendry could feel another presence. He turned quickly to see the older Maester clutching a vial. He slipped past him and into the room.

"NOOO!" Robert cried. "I don't WANT to. You have to listen to me! I'm the lord!"

"That may be," the Maester said. "But even lords have to go to sleep,"

"I hate you!" Robert spat. "You're old, and smelly!"

The Maester sighed before bending over to pick the boy up. Sweet robin struggled against him, throwing a tantrum as he was carried out of the room.

With the door closed, Gendry turned back in time to see Sansa face drop. She fell back onto the bench she had been sharing with her charge, and sighed heavily.

"Handful, that one," Gendry said, walking over to her.

"He's sick," she said quickly.

"And a brat," Gendry countered.

She smiled up at him. "And that,"

Suddenly, he became self conscious and looked to the fire in the room. It was roaring, and sending off an enormous amount of heat.

"Would you like to sit with me?"

He turned back to Sansa, whose hair was lighting up. Her hair was dyed back to the black it was supposed to be, but he could still see the flecks of red shining through. Her fire refuses to die.

Carefully, he sat down next to her and looked at his feet. She wouldn't let him off so easily, though.

"I haven't seen you in a while," she said, reaching her hand out to lay on his dirty hand. "What's captured your attention so?"

"I've...been busy."

"Really?" she said. "By all means, keep me waiting."

He gave a short laugh before looking up at the wall, trying to avoid eye contact. He was awful at this, why Baelish had plucked him from that inn on the Kingsroad to come back and be this beautiful woman's husband...it was beyond him.

"Gendry," she said softly. He turned back and looked at her. Her face was soft, but with the unmistakeable look of concern. Quickly, Gendry dove into his pocket, not wanting to have her think something was wrong. He withdrew the rose, and handed it to her.

"I tried making it as quick as a I could," he said. Sansa's breath hitched as she reached out to take it from him, her fingers grazing his as she took it into her hands, cradling the blossom in her palm as her other thumb ran the length of the stem. "I just couldn't get it right. The copper was brittle, and the petals kept falling apart...I had to start from scratch a few times-" he turned back to look at her, expecting her to be angered at his ugly gift, or, by some miracle, happy, but she was neither. She was crying.

"Oh...Oh no, did I do something wrong? Seven hells, I-"

"No!" she spoke up, and he froze. "No," she said, softer this time. She looked back down to the flower. "It's-it's perfect. It really is. It's been so long since anyone showed me some kindness without wanting anything in return. I guess I forgot how it felt to have someone..." she trailed off, grasping for the words to say.

"To care about you?"

She looked up at him, a bit shocked. He smiled at her and, carefully, as if he had never done it before, reached out to touch her face. As gently as he could, he brushed his thumb across her cheek, taking a tear away. "You're welcome,"

He moved to leave, but she had grabbed his hand. When he turned to ask her what was wrong, she crashed her lips against his. As quickly as it had happened, she pulled back, with a look of surprise, as if she was shocked by her own behavior.

"Sorry," she said, looking back down at her hands.

"Don't be," he whispered, his fingers reaching up to brush his lips. "Sansa..."

"I can be impulsive," she smiled, looking back at him. "But don't think this means you'll get to come into my bed before the wedding,"

"What?! No, I would never-" Sansa laughed at his fluster, before he found out she was joking. He laughed in spite of himself.

"Thank you for this," she said, gesturing back to the rose after a beat. He looked back down at her hands, having forgotten the rose entirely.

"Of course," he said. She turned back and looked at him, letting her eyes linger on his, then fall to his lips, before speaking again.

"I should...go to bed." she said. She looked back into his eyes again. He felt his head give a small nod, never taking his eyes off her pretty mouth. Her head turned to look at the door, breaking his trance.

"I'll walk you," he said.

Sansa looked back at him, as if she was going to correct him.

"I'm not trying to- I just want to make sure you get there safe,"

He didn't have to say anything. His small hints during their small amounts of time together, Sansa had picked up on his mistrust of Petyr. She had caught him standing in the doorways during her discussions with Petyr, and saw his body clench with discomfort whenever her guardian put his hands upon her, as innocent as it may seem.

"Very well," she said. Almost instinctively, she wrapped her forearm around his, her fingers grazing his bicep. Gendry was surprised by how natural it felt.

They walked in silence down the corridors, listening to the sound of their footsteps. Occasionally they would pass by a window, and Gentry's eyes would fall to Sansa, her skin glowing in the moonlight, her hair reflecting back its silver. Every step they got closer to her quarters he resented. He would have walked all night around this maze of stone and sky as long as she was next to him.

Sansa stopped in front of a heavy wooden door and turned to him. Her hair was loose, long, framing her sweet face as she looked up at him.

"Thank you, for walking me," she smiled. She turned to unlock the door but he caught her forearm, and quickly spun her around, pressing his lips against hers.

Lemon he thought. That's what that taste is.

After a moment, he pulled away. Sansa face had an odd expression about it- dazed like a dream. But when she looked back into his eyes, there was an unmistakeable feel to her stare. Hunger.

"Goodnight, Sansa." he said, turning to walk his way back to the forge.

"Goodnight," she called out softly. She quickly pushed open her door and fell against it, shutting it. Alone in her room, safe from any onlooking eyes, analyzing her face for small slips or a glance behind the mask she had learned to wear, she allowed herself to smile. She held the rose out to her face, and looked into the petals.

Roses. How did he know she loved roses?

:


	4. Chapter 4

Sansa had been a lady at three.

It seemed like since birth she knew how to curtsey, what dress was appropriate for what occasion, and even which stupid fork to use. She had pricked her fingers raw with sewing needles until she had mastered stitching, and brushed her hair until her arms were sore every night. She had starved herself at dinners at her septa's, and now Petyr's, encouragement, for their fear she would get plump. But as Sansa sat on the grass, finishing off the last of a lemon cake she had snuck from the kitchen earlier, her hair spread around her in a long, copper mess, with her betrothed snoring beside her, she didn't feel like a lady. She felt like a girl.

Sansa rolled onto her back and sucked the sweet juice off the tips of each of her fingers. It was late, and she knew it wouldn't be proper for her to stay out in the gardens. Petyr had the villianous habit of waking early, and taking long walks around the grounds. In addition, he had every servant in the castle under his thumb, and could make them talk with the slightest pressure. He would yell at her, tell her that if anyone else had seen she would have ruined their opportunity- opportunity for what, she didn't quite know, or at this moment, care.

It had happened earlier in the evening, when they had been sitting in the library and Sansa was showing him recipes that the kitchen hands had lent her. She thought the mix of numbers and words would challenge Gendry, but not completely stump him. He was smart- when she was younger, Sansa often thought intelligence was only an attribute of those who could afford to be educated, but watching how quickly Gendry picked up words, the ferocity at which her copied down his letters until they were perfect, and how he was getting better at sums than she was ("I'll need a new teacher soon", he had said when she couldn't make heads or tails of one of the equations she had found in one of the old school books), she began to realize that what she had believed before was the privileged outlook of a noble girl, and that intelligence appears in every class. She had met bumbling noble idiots with enough gold in their pockets to pay for the construction of thirty universities, and now she was sitting across from a boy who, weeks before, couldn't tell you all the letters in the alphabet, but who now seemed more well spoken and logical than half the men she had been surrounded by her entire life.

"This is making me hungry," Gendry said suddenly, dragging Sansa out of her trance. She had been drawing some flowers in the margins of one of the older books that SweetRobin had deemed to be reappropriated as a sketch book. She looked up and saw him holding up a recipe card for wild boar.

"We just had dinner," she smiled up at him.

"I just had dinner. You pushed around some meat on your plate,"

Sansa bit her nail - nasty habit, Petyr had scolded her for it before.

"I've been warned against eating too much," she said.

"Eating too much?" Gendry balked. He stood up and grasped her hand, gesturing for her to raise. "You're practically a stick. Didn't they feed you before I got here?"

Sansa searched for words that would calm him down, and assure him that she was being taken care of, but he spoke up before she could finish.

"Come," he said, pulling her towards the door. In the passing weeks since their kiss outside her room, he had gotten more comfortable with her, confident, even. Where before he seemed to blush and keep his head down whenever she entered a room, now he smiled at her and touched her lightly on the arm or fingers whenever she drew close. He was chivalrous, yet forceful, in a way that excited her. Any touch or small, knowing smile from him made a heat bloom in the pit of her stomach, and many nights since her gave her the rose, she would lay awake, thinking of his strong hands folding the metal onto itself, the sweat that formed on his forehead whenever he worked. Those night, she thanked the old gods and the new that she didn't share a bedroom with anyone.

"Where are you taking me?" she giggled and they crept down the stone corridor. Gendry was playing up his walk- tip toeing and pressing them against walls whenever they heard the on coming footsteps of a servant. Once during the mission he pulled Sansa into a small nook and held her close as a servant walked by, oblivious to the two of them. Sansa felt his hand on the back of her head, and looked up at his face, shethed in the not-quite-darkness of a hallway at night as he watched the servant leave, and wished they could stay like this; pressed against each other while inhaling the intermingling smell of forge and sweat.

"Coast is clear," he said, pulling out almost too fast. Sansa stumbled out, but caught herself before falling, just in time to notice Gendry's hand readjusting the front of his trousers. Oh.

It was a quick trip to the kitchen from there, and the two were quickly raiding the counters and cupboards for any bread or left over meat. Sansa had just found a small loaf when Gendry gave a small cry from the other side of the room. Quickly, she picked up her skirts and went to him, just in time to see him turn around and beam at her.

"Quickly," he said as he handed her a large plate. Sansa smelled them before she could make them out in the dark. Lemon cakes.

"Where did you-?" she asked before Gendry turned around, his hands clutching the bottom of his shirt to form a small pouch filled with other sweet bread. "Let's go," he interrupted her, gesturing to the doorway with his head. Sansa followed, dumbstruck, as he led her out the servants entrance of the kitchen, down the corridor, and into the small garden on the west wing of the castle.

"Think we're safe now," Gendry said, settling himself under a tree. Sansa daintily walked over to him, and sat down on the grass as gracefully as she could.

"Good haul," he said, laying the desserts down on a loose napkin he had put in his pocket. He looked up at her, waiting for her stop say something.

"How did you know they had these?" she said, running her thumb along the edge of the plate she was holding.

"I over heard the servants talk," he said, reaching out and grabbing a raspberry tart, and chomping into it aggressively. "They said Lady Sansa is fond of her lemon cake."

Sansa blushed and looked down at the cake. She hadn't had it for months, not since she arrived at the Eyrie. She sometimes put lemon in her wine when she missed the sour and sweet sting of citrus, but it was no substitute.

"Well come on," Gendry said, licking tart of his fingers. "Eat,"

"I...I don't have a fork," Sansa said quickly.

"You don't need one," he leaned over the bread and took a pinch from one of the cakes, and put it back in his mouth. "See?"

Before she had known Gendry, Sansa would have been disgusted with such a display, and never would have dreamed to lower herself to eat in such a manner. But something about him - his boyish smile as he exaggerated chewing the cake and made loud noises of contentment, or the way the moonlight cast a blue outline across his beautiful face and strong muscled arms. Maybe it was the fact that lately even the thought of him made her palms sweat and her stomach tie itself in knots. Whatever the reason, Sansa Stark decided that tonight, she wasn't going to be a lady.

She picked the lemon cake up with two hands and brought it to her face, eagerly chomping into the center and savoring the taste. Gods, how she had missed it. She looked up to Gendry expected to see disgust, evidence that she had crossed a line, but instead he laughed and reached over and took a chunk from her hand.

"Hey!" she reached out for it, but he held her back as he bit into it.

"I thought ladies knew how to share." he said, scraping the lemon meranguine off his thumb with his top teeth. Sansa pulled her hands back, and reached up to undo her hair. Her long tresses fell past her shoulders and she crawled closer to the pile of food. She reached out for the last remaining lemon cake, and dragged her tongue across the surface. Smiling, she held it out to Gendry.

"By all means, my lord," she said, smiling through her teeth.

Instead of taking the cake like she expected, Gendry pushed her hand aside and brought her face to his.

He tasted like raspberry. Sansa felt his tongue run against her bottom lip before she experimented with opening her mouth. Almost immediately, he stabbed his tongue in, causing her pull back.

"Sorry!" he said almost immediately. There was a long pause before he sighed, and looked down at his hands. "Men at the taverns on the Kings Road said women liked that...I'm still new at this,"

"New at what?"

"Women."

Sansa smiled. "I think you're doing well enough," she said, sitting back up and scooting closer to him.

"Do you?" he said flirtatiously as her hand began to move along his jawline, scratching the soft patches.

"Just take it slow," she said. "Like you're biting into a peach you want to savor,"

Gendry laughed out loud, almost falling over onto the picnic.

"What's so funny?" Sansa snapped. Gendry kept laughing, rolling on the grass with his hands of his belly.

"If you don't tell me, I'm going to go back to my room," she threatened. His hand reached up, and pulled her down on top of him, landing with a squeak.

"You're funny," he said, pressing a kiss onto the top of her head. Sansa relaxed against him, listening to his heart beat through his linen shirt. She scoot in closer to him, throwing her arm over his torso as they looked up into the sky.

"Do you know the constellations?" she asked. She felt him nod.

"Tell me their stories," she said, reaching down beside them to grab the lemon cake she had licked. Breaking it in half, she handed a piece up to Gendry and began to nibble on her portion and he began to tell her.

"That one," he pointed. "That's the first dragon. It made a wager with the gods that he could fly farther..."

Sansa fell asleep to his voice, telling her stories about knights and monsters and star crossed lovers. When she awoke again, she found that they had rolled onto the desserts in their sleep. Every instinct told her that staying out in the garden would be improper, against everything she was taught, and would call her reputation into question.

Sansa Stark was a lady at age three, but at seventeen, she discovered she much preferred just being a girl.

She snuggled in closer to Gendry, who wrapped his arm tighter around her shoulders.

Let them find me, she thought, breathing in the smell of smoke on his shirt. Let them find us.


	5. Chapter 5

Gendry woke before the dawn broke. His face was covered in sweet frosting. Pushing himself up from where he lay, he took in his surroundings.

Oh. That's right

Something beside him moved. He looked down, and saw Sansa, her hand reaching out for where he was laying just moments ago. He laid down next to her, and gently put his hand on her arm.

"Sansa," he whispered.

Sansa's face soured, and she turned to look at the sky and lazily opened her eyes.

"Mmpph?" she asked, still sleepy.

"We have to be getting back," he said, reaching to brush some crumbs from her hair.

"No we don't," she reached up and pulled his neck down, putting his head against her breasts.

"Sansa," he giggled. "If someone sees us-"

"If someone sees us I'll have them hanged. Quartered." she mused, and began to run her fingers through his hair. She had never been this relaxed around him before. He wanted to stay where he was, pressed against her, watching the stars as she raked his hair with her fingernails.

"When I was a child," she said dreamily, "and the nights were reasonably warm, my mother used to take me out onto the balcony, and we would lay down like this." Gendry looked up at the expanse of dark, night sky, trying to imagine Sansa as a small girl, laying in the snow, wide eyed and fascinated. "It was after Arya was born, and I was upset that my mother was spending so much time with her. This was how she made it up to me. The first time, she pointed out these constellations - I don't remember their true names. She asked me to give them my own names, and then she just started telling me these wondrous stories about them. I don't know if she had prepared it, or if she was just making it up, but she kept on. We'd go out every so often and she would tell me a new story. She never told anyone else. Not even Father." Her voice began to warble.

Gendry turned his head to look at her.

"I'm sorry," she said, brushing under her eyes.

"Why?"

"Because...it's not very becoming, is it? Seeing a woman cry," she laughed in spite of herself.

"I don't think you could ever be unbecoming,"

Sansa stopped wiping her face, and blushed deeply. Gendry pushed himself off of her, and began to look around the garden.

"Can I take you somewhere?" he asked.

Sansa sat up.

"Yes," she said, reaching out to accept his hand up. She brushed the crumbs off her shift.

"The ravens will see to that," he said, gesturing to the crumbs. "come,"

He led her up the side stairs from the garden. Two flights up, he stopped her at one of the roofs.

"Here," he said, gesturing for her to climb over the stonewall and onto the next roof. Carefully, Sansa threw her leg over, but the slick surface caused her to lose her balance and fall onto the floor below.

"Fuck!" Gendry hopped over the stone and bent down, ready to tend to any cuts or bruises. Instead, she was laughing.

"Bloody hell, some graceful lady you are," he teased. She pushed him away playfully as she stood up, and dropped into a low curtsey in her shift.

"I am incredibly graceful. I am a swan," she extended her arms.

"Come on, then, swan. We've got a bit more to go."

Sansa straightened up and noticed how close she had come to falling off another distance. Carefully, Gendry jumped down another meter, and reached up to take her waist. Sansa jumped down, and felt his hands linger a bit longer.

"Um, through here," he said, turning abruptly into the small doorway that took them through the stone. Crouching down, she followed him until they came upon a large stone room with a massive hole in what was once a glass dome.

The room was surprisingly furnished. A desk had been pushed to the corner, and there was a few massive piles of books scattered across the floor. An upturned chest, a few old robes. Gendry made for the corner, and pulled a ladder from the floor. He leaned it against a crack in the glass, leaving a window between the dome and the stone.

"Come here," he said. Sansa padded over softly, and reached out to grab a ladder rung.

"I'll be behind you," he said. "The ladder is sturdy if I put it between these two stones," he kicked the floor. Sansa nodded and began the small climb up. Then stopped. She turned around,

"You're not looking up my shift, are you?" she asked.

She was immediately embarassed, and shocked she could have said something more rude.

Gendry turned a deep purple red. "Oh fuck - no- not - no! I didn't even think-"

Sansa let out a giggle. "Well," you'll have to eventually. If we're to be husband and wife after all." With that, Sansa began climbing up the ladder quickly, leaving Gendry below to contemplate what she had just said.

Sansa wondered if she had too much to drink before bed, or if she was just letting herself be giddy, like she used to be with Jeyne, and her brothers. Maybe happiness was such a foreign emotion to her now, after all these years, that when she felt it now, after all the misery, it was a glorious high.

Then she noticed the sky.

With no trees crowding her view, and no walls keeping her in, Sansa felt the sky envelop her. The massive, dark blue blanket that danced along the horizon, where families had left torches outside. She breathed in, and felt Gendry finally start to come up the ladder.

"This is amazing," she said. She carefully reached out a hand to touch the glass dome's exterior.

"I found it when I was looking through old sketches of the floor plans in the library,"

"Sound terribly interesting,"

He ignored her. "This used to be the astrology tower. The first Lord of the Vale in recorded history still practiced a wildling religion based on the phases of the moon. He insisted this be built. It fell apart during a storm, about fifty years ago."

"How has no one fixed it?"

Gendry shrugged. "You can't see it from any side approaching the castle. The only windows looking down directly into it are the library's. Probably didn't have the coin." he started to move down the ladder. Sansa took one last look before following him down. In the center of the room, the hole let in a massive flood of light. Sansa went to stand below it, looking up into the sky. She turned to Gendry.

"Can we stay here?" she asked.

"What?" he turned to her, his eyebrows raised.

"Just for a bit. I want to lay and look at the stars." she retrieved some robes from the chest, and spread them on the floor.

"Sansa, we...this isn't proper. It was different in the garden, because everyone was asleep, but people will begin working soon. And...I don't want to..."

"What?" Sansa pushed herself up.

"I shouldn't have snuck you out. You're a proper lady, and..."

"And I'm perfectly capable of making up my own mind," she retorted. "You didn't drag me out of my room. Besides, you said no one can see us up don't exist to the world."

Gendry looked up at the sky. Sansa could tell he was unsure.

"Gendry," she stood up, and pulled his face down to her's. "Lie down with me. Just lay down and look at the stars."

Gendry sighed, and slowly dropped down onto the pallet with her. Sansa reached up, and gently ran her fingers through his shirt's laces and his chest hair.

"You're not trying to undress me, are you?" Gendry teased, imitating her voice from moments before.

"Yes. I'm here to rob you of your honor," Sansa threw a leg over his hips.

"Don't...don't put your leg there."

"Why?"

"Because." he said pushing her leg down.

She considered his face, contorted in embarrassment. She felt her cheeks becoming hotter. She moved her leg up again, making a point to lightly press against his hardness.

"I don't mind," she said. "I like it."

Gendry turned to her, an astonished look on his face. But something else. Something more primitive and ancient.

She felt butterflies push against her chest. She leaned her head down onto his chest, listening to his frantic heartbeat. She brought up her hand and began to draw circles on him. Slowly, he seemed to relax. He looked up at the sky, and took in a deep breath. He stroked her hair, and soon, felt her breath even out. He peered down, and saw her eyes were closed.

"Sansa,"

"Not yet," she sighed, nuzzling closer. "I can still see the stars."

Gendry softened. This was the first night in what had been a series of terrible, crushing years that she was allowed to be carefree. To explore a castle, steal sweets, and laugh. He pulled her closer up against him, and dropped a kiss to her forehead.

"Okay,"

When they woke up at the bright light of noon, they were still tangled up together.


	6. Chapter Six

The light had woken her up.

Slowly, her lid peeled back, expecting to see the pink sky of dawn. Instead, she saw white, fat clouds filling up the sky. She shot up and turned to wake the man sleeping next to her. "Gendry," she said hurriedly. "

"Gendry," she said hurriedly. "

"Mmphf," he turned on his side. Sansa pulled him back towards her.

"Wake up," she said, shaking his side. Reluctantly, his cracked his eyes open. "It's late," she said. "They have to be up by now," Gendry sat up quickly and looked at the sky, suddenly fully awake as she was. He pushed himself off the stone and reached his hand down to her to pull her up. She took it and quickly stood. "They'll be out looking for us by now," she said. Sansa turned her head and scanned the room. In the light of

"It's late," she said. "They have to be up by now," Gendry sat up quickly and looked at the sky, suddenly fully awake as she was. He pushed himself off the stone and reached his hand down to her to pull her up. She took it and quickly stood. "They'll be out looking for us by now," she said. Sansa turned her head and scanned the room. In the light of

Gendry sat up quickly and looked at the sky, suddenly fully awake as she was. He pushed himself off the stone and reached his hand down to her to pull her up. She took it and quickly stood. "They'll be out looking for us by now," she said. Sansa turned her head and scanned the room. In the light of day, she could see how dusty it really was. Due to the rain and snow, many of the books had dried out and filled with mildew a hundred times over. Sansa looked down at the clothes that had been their bed - they too carried generations worth of stains. Insects had eaten holes through some of the fabric. Without hesitation, she reached down and pulled a maroon jacket from the heap and shook it out before handing it to him. 

"Put this on," she said quickly before walking over to an overturned trunk. Taking a deep breath, Sansa swung her leg up and brought the side of her ankle down on the brass corner. She left out a small cry before leaning down to brace herself against the upturned side. 

"What the hell was that for?" Gendry cried. She turned her attention back to him, and swallowed a cry. 

"Well I can't very well pretend to have had an immobilizing ankle injury without a bruise," she said pragmatically. She pushed herself up, gritting her teeth against the pain as she started to limp over to him. She reached a hand out and dropped it on his shoulder. Using him for balance. 

"There's a Godswood down those stairs," she said. "No doubt they already checked it, but they probably didn't check behind the bushes. There's a pile of rocks that leads down a few good feet until stopping at the stone wall." She took in a deep breath, trying to will the pain to stop. "I'll say I left in the middle of the night to pray. Say when you heard I was missing, you looked for me yourself. Now," she sighed, looking around the room. "Find some boots."

After they had pulled an old pair from under a pile of clothes, they began to make their way back to the stair case. Gendry pulled Sansa up the meter high-walls, and once she was perched on the small railing that separated the stone stairs from the hidden passage, He placed his arms under Sansa's knees and hoisted her over. 

"You think Petyr will believe this?" he asked as he began to walk down the stairs. 

"Probably not," she sighed. "But he won't contradict me in front of anyone," 

Once they turned the corner, they came face to face with one of the guards. 

"Found them!" the guard called back over his shoulder before hustling over to the pair. Before he could reprimand them for causing the castle so much panic, Gendry spoke up. 

"Help," he said, trying to sound as convincing as possible. Sansa, for her part, had started to cry. 

"Oh shit," the guard sighed. Behind him, three more men had run up. Petyr followed after, a noticeable mask of concern on his face. His features fell once he saw the scene before him, and his cool demeanor once again took over. 

"What happened?" he demanded as he strolled up. 

"Last night," Sansa breathed in a hitching breath.  _Damn, she's actually pretty good at this._ Gendry thought. "I went to the Godswood to pray for Sweetrobin's health and...I tried to pluck one of the roses, but I lost my footing and..." she lifted her foot up daintily. 

Petyr's face did not shift.

"Take her the infirmary," he said. Quickly, one of the men took Sansa from Gendry's arms and hurriedly marched down the rest of the stairs. Sansa blue eyes flicked up to Gendry as her head bobbed behind the guard's shoulder.

"See to it that the staff is informed that she has been found," Petyr said to the other two men. With a quick nod, they walked up the rest of the way. 

Gendry and Petyr stood in silence. The wind picked up. 

"Feeling religious this morning?" Petyr asked.

"I had wanted to help look for her," he said. "I woke up early and went to the smith, and before I had started working someone was yelling that the Lady Sansa had gone missing." Gendry straightened his back. Petyr took him in with a wary gaze. 

Without another word, Petyr turned to walk down the stairs. Gendry let out a breath he didn't know he had been holding and turned to look out over the mountains. 

_Fuck._

 

In the infirmary, the nurses had slid a light blue robe over Sansa's shoulders to protect her modesty as she lay on the examining tables with one of her feet in the air. Carefully, the old Maester maneuvered her heel in his hand. Sansa sucked at her teeth in pain. 

"Looks like a sprain alright," the Maester's voice warbled. 

 _Thank gods his eye sight is poor._ Sansa frowned and forced another tear out of her eye. 

"Keep it elevated for the rest of the day, and see how you feel walking on it tomorrow." he prescribed. Standing up, the Maester nodded to the guard. "Take her back to her chambers and let her rest."

As the guard picked Sansa back up, Petyr entered the room. 

"Nothing to worry about, my Lord." the Maester said. "A simple sprain is all. Should be fine in a few days."

Petyr turned his face to Sansa, who looked pitiful and small in the guard's arms. 

"You gave us quite a fright this morning," he said carefully. 

"My sincerest apologies," Sansa said. "I had screamed for help all night, and must have fallen asleep when you checked the Gods wood."

"Must have," he said neutrally. He turned his attention to guard. "Very well, take her to her chambers."

The guard strode down the hallway silently. Once in her chambers, he quickly deposited her on the bed and left the room. Sansa reached over her shoulder and took a pillow from behind her, tossing it down and propping her foot on top. 

The door opened quickly, and Petyr strolled in, his cloak billowing behind him. Waiting for the click of the door closing behind him, stared down at her. Once the door closed, she spoke.  

"Fine performance you pulled off," he said stoically. 

"Well I did learn from the best," she said, pushing herself up into a sitting position. 

"Where were you then?" he asked. 

"Gendry and I stole cakes from the kitchen. I showed him the area behind the Godswood's rose bushes and we ate down there and fell asleep." she said. She gestured down to her foot. "When we were climbing up after we had overslept, I tripped and fell down the pile."

Petyr took her in, not sure whether or not to believe her. Sansa's face didn't give anything away. Finally, he opened his mouth. 

"Get some rest, Sansa," he said finally. He turned and left the room, and for a moment, Sansa held her breath as she listened for the sound of his boots clicking down the hallway. 

Turning over to her bedside table, Sansa pulled some parchment, a quill and an inkwell from the drawer. Carefully maneuvering herself to turn on her side while keeping her leg elevated, she cleared a space for the paper on the table and unscrewed the pot. 

 

Gendry stayed away from Sansa's room most of the day. In truth, he avoided the entire wing. But, knowing that Petyr would probably have spies on guard during the night, he decided it'd be best for appearances to go and visit his betrothed in her sick bed. He waited until Petyr took meeting with some Lord or another, and quickly made his way to her door.

When he entered, he saw the septa before he saw Sansa. She was sitting by the bedside, carefully embroidering something. When he looked up, her round, elderly face shout up and scowled. 

"What are you doing here? You can't just enter a lady's chamber-"

"It's fine," Sansa put aside the book she had been reading and sat up smiling. Gendry made his way to her side and took her hand, trying to convey all the marks of a concerned and loving fiance, ignoring the fluttering feeling inside that he need not 'try' something that was starting to feel more natural. 

As Sansa took his hand, he felt a small object being placed into his palm. Her face gave nothing away as she beamed up at him. 

"How are you feeling?"

"Better," she said. "Should only be in here another day or two." she squeezed his hand and pulled away, and Gendry closed his fingers over whatever she had left behind. Quickly, he dropped it into his pocket, keeping his focus on her. 

"Should know it takes more than a few rocks to keep a Northern girl down," he smiled. Sansa's face flushed pink, and she looked down at her hands. 

"Well," she said, absentmindedly rubbing her thumb over her other hand. "I couldn't have escaped if you hadn't found me." 

He smiled back at her as she looked up at him. From the side of her bed, the septa clucked. 

"I take it's time for me to go," he said. Sansa's smile fell a bit. Gently, Gendry reached out and put his hand on the back of her neck, leaning in to kiss her forehead. Before the Septa could reprimand him for being so improper, he dropped his hand from her back and turned to leave. Sansa felt her cheeks warm. 

 

He waited until he was in the forge to pull the gift Sansa had pressed into his hand. Upon looking at it in the light, he saw it was a meticulously folded note, with some object entrapped. Carefully, he pried the paper apart. Two sheets stacked onto each other folded out. 

_Gendry_

_Lie or no, a lady always thanks the knight who saved her from peril._

_I look forward to more stars in the future._

_Sansa_

Gendry pulled the other larger paper from the back and turned to see what was written on it. 

Unlike the other piece, this page had been ripped from a book. As Gendry scanned over the words, he recognized the prose from the story she had read to him in the forge all those months ago. However, that's not what caught his eye at first. 

In small, careful lines, Sansa had drawn him across the page in red ink. Sketches of him in the forge, hunched over a book, and inspecting a small rose. She must have been watching him, all those days that he had sat across from her stumbling over words or bringing his hammer down. All this time he thought she had been scribbling notes or writing letters to whomever Baelish had her write to. Instead, she was drawing, marking up her own books with his likeness and then tearing them out to present to him. Gendry ran his finger over the red ink, amazed by the likeness. Sansa was very talented. 

Putting the note back into his pocket, he felt something else, something hard, press against his finger. Fishing it out, he saw that it was a small charm in the shape of a bird.  

 _She wore this the day I arrived._ He ran the pad of his thumb over the silver, feeling the minuscule indents that defined the bird's features. He walked over to his work bench and fished out a length of a long leather string. Carefully he threaded the leather through the loop in the chain and tied the two ends together. He placed the necklace over his head and pinched the charm in between his fingers.

_More stars in the future._

He tucked the necklace under his shirt. 

Turning to his work bench, he decided to start a new project. 

 


	7. Chapter 7

Sansa stayed hidden away for the next two days. Gendry tried to visit, but each time he dropped by, he saw that a guard had taken up a position outside of her door. Each time he came up to ask to see her, the excuses were always the same.

“Lady Sansa is sleeping”

“Lady Sansa is eating.”

“Lady Sansa is busy.”

Not too busy for Petyr or Sweet Robin, it would seem. Gendry had seen the two of them each visiting her – he had run into Petyr after the first rejection, and had heard Sweet Robin’s shrill cry from his room a few more corridors down. He kept his mouth shut, however. That brief run in with Petyr on the first day had been enough. Gendry knew a power play when he saw one, and decided it would be best if Petyr thought he had ‘won’ this game.

            Instead, he headed to the forge to begin working. Once he closed the door behind him, he bent to shuffle through the pile of low quality scrap he had been allotted to use for personal projects. All those fine swords he had been working on for the Vale, and here he was, cutting himself on rusted iron and flaking metals. He had used all the good bits on the rose he had given her nigh a year ago now, and hadn’t been able to sneak any away. After he had reached the bottom of his pile, he examined the few pieces he had deemed passable. Wiping his hands on his trousers, he sighed. It seemed unfair he had to make something so important with such shoddy materials. He held up a piece of iron and watched in crumble in his hands.

No. She deserved better.

He looked over at the chest under his work bench, Throwing the flakes down, he twisted his body to face it. He reached out and pulled the leather strap and slowly pulled the trunk out. He sat up on his knees and flipped the buckles up. Slowly, he pushed the lid up until it fell back onto itself, sending a cloud of dust and grime puffing into the air. Carefully he dropped both his hands into the chest and pulled the bull helm out.

            He ran his hands over the smooth exterior. He had been so proud of it. Was proud of it. How many years had he been saving up to buy the steel for the horns? How many times had he burned his fingers stealing away warm scraps of fine metal from his master’s work bench? He remembered when, at 14, he finally had all the materials to begin to make something that was wholly _his._

            Gendry shut the lid of the chest and kicked it back under the bench. He turned and pushed himself off against the floor of the forge and stood, making for the anvil in the corver, his right hand grasped around one of the helm’s horns.

            He laid the helm on the rouch, black surface. Carefully, he eyed how much of the horn needed to hang off the edge. Once he was satisfied, he reached for his hammer.

            Turning back to the anvil, he twisted the hammer in his hand, catching it after each small toss. Once he had built up the nerve, he took in a deep breath and brought the hammer down. A loud _TINK!_ Echoed across the forge. He raised the hammer again, and brought it down with more ferocity. _TINK! TINK! TINK! TINK! TUNK-!_

            The tip of the horn bounced against the anvil’s edge and fell into the dirt at his feet. Placing his hammer to the side, he bent down and plucked the bit of steel up. He tossed it lightly in his hand, measuring the weight. His estimation was correct. This should be enough.

            He pulled himself up and pocket the piece. Avoiding looking at the helm directly, he reached out to grasp the broken horn with one hand and reached to pull the chest out from under the bench. Letting the lid fall back, and her carefully placed the helm back in its place. He sent a consolatory glance down at its uneven horns.

He grasped the bit of metal in his pocket and sighed.

This was more important.

 

….

Sansa had been held in her room for two days, but she escaped on the second night. Her septa had finally left her to sleep in peace, assuming that a grievously injured noble girl wouldn’t be inclined to sneak around. So Sansa had been left on her own after supper had finished, and the guard, who usually left once her septa brought her dinner, had been excused earlier. Now, Sansa lay on her side, watching the sky out her window.

            When the moon finally entered into the center of the frame, Sansa threw the furs off of her and swung her legs over the side, grabbing a small blade from her bedside table. gently pressed her injured foot against the stone floor and winced. While it was not as terrible an injury as she had let on, it still pained her to walk on it. Taking in a deep breath, she put weight on the foot, and began to limp slightly to the door.

            Quietly she pressed against the wood and peaked her head out. The only torch that was in the corridor had died down considerably, plunging the corridor into darkness. Sansa smiled and slid out of the door, shutting it delicately behind her. She quickly padded down the hallway.

            When she stood outside of his door, she paused, listening in the silence for any sign she had been followed. After a few beats had passed, she tightened her grip on the knife’s handle and eyed the gap between the door and the stone. When she saw the dark line marking the latch, she smiled to herself and brought the blade just under the iron bar. With a quick flick of her wrist, she flipped the latch onto the opposite side, and slowly pulled the door open.

            She shut the door behind her, careful not to make a sound. She replaced the iron latch before turning to consider the sleeping form on the bed. She went to stand at the corner, and fiddled with the knife handle as her eyes trailed down the contours of his sleeping face in the moonlight, the ridiculous position he had fallen asleep in. Sansa smiled to herself, and let the knife clatter to the floor. She braced herself on the wooden bedframe, and began to crawl up to the mattress until she sat by him, looking down on his sleeping face.

“Gendry,” she said softly, shaking his shoulder. When he didn’t stir, she tried again. “Gen-drrrry,” she sing-songed. She saw his face contort in the moonlight, fighting against his waking. Sansa pressed a kiss on his cheek and suddenly his blue eyes opened. He turned to look up at her.

“Sansa?” he asked sleepily. She nodded, and began to run her fingers through his hair. Gendry pushed himself up and looked around.

“What are you doing here?”

“I came to see you,” she said

He looked over at the door.

“Were you followed?”

“Oh, most assurdedly,” she said, one of her hands reaching across him and bracing her weight on his other side. “But I think I lost him when I went to the kitchens.” she smiled.

She pressed a kiss on his lips, gentle at first, but just as Gendry thought she was pulling away, he felt her swing a leg over his torso. He felt her hands come up to cup his face and she opened her mouth slightly. Gendry snaked his hands up through her hair, gripping the back of her head to bring her closer. He wrapped an arm around her waist, pulling her against him, Sansa squeaked at his force, but rocked her hips against his to show her approval. Gendry bit her bottom lip, coaxing her to open her mouth. She did, and slid her tongue softly over his lip, testing. Gendry felt her fingers begin to tug at the hem of his shirt, and taking the hint he pulled it over his head and threw it across the room. Discarded, Sansa ran her fingers up his torso, and hooked her finger around the leather strap around his neck. Gendry’s hand on her waist relaxed as she trailed her finger along the strap until she felt the charm, warmed by his skin, aginst her fingertips.

“My charm,” she smiled. She looked up at him. “You’re wearing it?”

Before Gendry could answer, Sansa looked back down at the charm, pinching it between her fingers.

“My Lady Mother gave this to me,” she said. “My father had given it to her after I was born,” she looked back up at him. “I’m so happy you’re wearing it,” she beamed at him before clenching her eyes shut, tightening her grip on the charm. He covered her hand with his.

“You don’t seem real,” she laughed. “I thought for so long, the knights and men of honor were all in songs, and I was so stupid for believing in them. But you…” she trailed off. Gendry squeezed her hand reassurdedly. Before he could say anything, however, Sansa pulled his face down to hers, and pressed against him again. She ran her tongue along his bottom lip, inviting him to open up. When he did, she pulled his neck. Gendry dropped his hand from her waist and hooked it under her knee, flipping their positions.

            He looked down at the girl below him as he let his hand creep up her thigh, pushing her shift up slowly. Sansa smiled up at him, and pulled his face down to hers, biting his lip before slipping her tongue into his mouth. She bucked her hips up against him, and Gendry felt his pants become uncomfortable tight.

            He had thought of their wedding night. Who wouldn’t, if their betrothed was her? In his fantasties, on those shameful nights when he couldn’t sleep, he imagined in. She would be so proper and timid, he imagined. She would blush as he pushed her shift up, and cover her face in a fit of giggles and embarrassment when he spread her legs. He imagined the two of them coupling gently, careful not to hurt her.

            But reality was different. He felt that now, as Sansa pressed against him with equal fervor and began to trail open mouth kisses down his throat. Gendry groaned, and one of his hands shot up to pull her face back up. Immediately, he ducked his head down to bite the soft junction where neck met shoulder. Sansa let out a little gasp, and rolled her hips against his. Gendry sucked at where he had bitten, enjoying the sounds he pulled from her.

            Outside, a bark cracked through the air. Both of them froze, pulling away from each other and turning towards the window. After a beat, Sansa laughed from under him, and kissed the wrist he was leaning on. She pushed herself up and Gendry made room for her.

“I should,” she gestured to the door. Gendry gave her a sad smile. She reached out an grabbed his hand, bringing the back of his hand to her lips.

“Petyr says we’ll be married before spring,” she said softly, resting her cheek on his hand. She looked up at him, and he wished more than anything her could fall into her gaze. Gendry reached for his bedside table, pulling a leather strap he had been using as a bookmark from its place between the pages. Carefully, he looped the leather around Sansa’s finger, tying the top with a snug knot. She giggled. He tied one of the end around his pinky, and when he had finished, he tugged at their bond playfully. She answered by allowing herself to be pulled to him. She rest her forehead against his, and breathed in the smell of him as his hands found their way onto her waist. She pulled the leather from her fingers and brought her hands up to cup his face again.

“Before the first flower of spring,” Gendry reiterated. Sansa nodded and kissed him. Gently, she pulled her leg out from over him, and began to crawl down the bed before turning around.

“In three days time,” she said. “there’s a full moon. Meet me in the star room?”

He smiled.

“Of course,” he said. Sansa’s mouth ticked upwards as she turned back to crawl off his bed. She bent down to pick up the knife and sent him a look before she left.

“Three days,” she whispered before disappearing behind the closing door. Gendry pushed himself up and went to the door, latching the door once again. Instead of returning to bed, though, he let himself rest against the door.

No.

There was no way he could go back to sleep.

He brought his hand up to his face and pulled the leather tie from his pinky. He held up the perfect loop that Sansa’s finger had left into the moonlight.

 

….

 

After a few attempts and a lot of cursing, Gendry had finally managed to melt the tip of the horn down. The molten metal glowed in the small pot he had clutched between the pliers, and he held his breath as he poured it into the small mold he had made earlier that morning. Once he had emptied the contents of the small pot, he placed the pinchers back down and made for the anvil. On the top, he had balanced one of the special rocks that the climbing woman – Mya? – had shown him earlier that day. He hadn’t believed her when she first told him, but something about her made him trust her. “It’s blue, like her eyes.” She had winked at him when she placed the rock in his hands. Gendry raised the hammer, hoping the woman wasn’t just having her fun with him.

            When he brought the hammer down, however, he was pleasantly surprised to hear the CRACK! and see the neat black line separate the sphere into two halves. Carefully, Gendry pulled the two pieces apart and gazed inside. Bright blue crystals danced in the fire light, and Gendry smiled to himself. Carefully, he placed one half on the anvil’s surface, and brought the hammer down onto it’s back. He continued hammering under he had a sizeable pebble of bright blue crystal. Returning to the mold, he pried it apart and took the small object in a smaller pair of pinchers. In the heat of the fire, he began to obsessively pull at the curves, ensuring no unsightly bulges were marring the smooth surface. When he was finally satisfied, he left it on the edge of the fire, one side still hot from the flame. With great care, he took some of the wire bristles he had found in his chest and began bending them into geometric shapes. Quickly, he pressed the wires onto the hot surface, molding them together. Once they were attached, he placed the blue gem, and a few other flecks of crystal into the surface. When the last piece had been carefully attached, and he had run his fingers over it until his thumb was sore to ensure that all pieces were permanently placed, he held the piece up to the light and smiled. It was then that he realized that he had only liked the bull helm.

He loved this.

 

…..

 

Sansa was hiding under her bed, careful not the breathe.

 _Come on,_ she thought, her eyes trained on the bottom of her door. _Just check in and then go._

Since her bed rest had come to an end, Sansa had noticed more surveillance in her corridor than usual. Whether this meant Petyr knew about her trip to visit Gendry a few nights ago or it was his reaction to her first offence, Sansa couldn’t say. What she did know, however, was that Ser Franklin was assigned to her corridor that night.

            Ser Franklin was new, and, bless him, trying his best. Sansa had spotted him weeks earlier as he tripped over his words when reporting to Petyr. He was terrified of him, Sansa knew, and luck would have it, he was the one in charge of her that night. If everything went as planned, Ser Franklin would peak in, see the pillowed form she had left under her covers, and then go about his rounds. If he somehow discovered she had escaped, he wouldn’t dare tell Petyr, and would instead spend the entire night searching for her. Sansa could slip back in without him noticing or telling on her. It was perfect.

If he would just open the door.

Just as Sansa was about to push herself out to stretch, the door creaked open, and candlelight illuminated the entry to her room. Sansa held her breath as she saw Ser Franklin’s foot take a hesitant step into her chambers. Before Sansa could worry that she had left part of her lump uncovered, the candle light dimmed, and she heard the door close. Letting out a small sigh, she crawled out from under the bed and walked quietly over to the door. She pressed her ear to the wood, listening for the faint footsteps that meant Ser Franklin had already made the turn at the end of the hallway. After another pause, the echos died out. Gathering her courage, Sansa pushed the door open, and quickly slid into the dark corridor.

            When she made it to the dip in the stome wall, she threw her legs over with ease, determined not to fall on her face like she had previously. She carefully lowered herself down the two meter drops, minding her still bruised ankle. Once she was at the bottom, she scrunched down and crawled her way through the tunnel.

            When she appeared at the other end, she saw Gendry laying at the center on his back, fiddling with something in his hands. Sansa stood up, and cleared her throat. His head twisted to look at her, and Sansa was struck suddenly with how beautiful he looked, stretched under the stars, bathed in a soft white light that made his hair dance with silver streaks. He pushed himself up, and flushed pink as she approached, realizing that once again, she was just in her shift.

“Look how beautiful the stars are,” she said, gazing up at the heavens. The inky expanse of sky was full of stars, swirling across the landscape. The moon hung fat in the air, casting a soft glow on everything that lay below. Sansa smiled and turned her attention back to Gendry.

“Shall we lay down?” she asked. She reached for his hand, but as she moved to sit, he pulled her back up. Perplexed, Sansa stood up again. Her smile was replaced with concern when she saw how he tried to avoid her gaze.

“Gendry,” she said, gently turning him to face her. His eyes met hers, and she let a hand fall onto his cheek. “Is everything alright?”

“I-,” he inhaled, and looked up at the stars. Sansa felt something flood in the pit of her stomach. She had been too forward last night. Too romantic and girlish. He was going to tell her he didn’t like that. He had changed his mind about her-

He held something up in the light. Sansa was pulled from her anxiety, and considered the object in front of her.

“I know we’re going to be married soon,” he said. “but…I was thinking about how many times you’ve been pushed into choosing things. And I guess I just wanted to know this is something you weren’t being forced into. Because…you’re clever, and fun, and kind, and…everything.  I don’t ever want you thinking…” he sighed unsure how to continue, but kept his gaze in line with hers. This was too important. He took in a shakey breath. “I know that I’m the son of Robert Baratheon. But I’m not a noble. I’m a blacksmith. And maybe we were never meant to meet. But I…” she reached up an wrapped her fingers daintily around his wrist, refusing to break eye contact. He gathered all the courage he could muster.

“I love you, Sansa. And I wanted to know if you could love me. Not the person they’re saying I am, or who I’m going to have to be.” He bounced his hand, still clutching the small silver ring. “So, um, I guess…I’m asking if you’d be a blacksmith’s wife.” He looked at the ring in hand, so convinced it looked pathetic compared to the jewels she must have seen.

“Will you marry me?” he finally asked in a voice that was too confident and steady to be his.

Sansa didn’t answer at first. The moment hung between them heavy as fog. Just as Gendry was about to turn, toss the ring, curse himself for being so stupid, Sansa spoke.

“Do you really?” she asked.

Gendry’s eyebrows shot up.

“What?”

“Do you love me?” she asked, a small smile threatening to break out on her face. Gendry let out out a barking laugh.

“ _Yes,_ ” he laughed. “Bloody hells, woman, you think I make rings for every girl with a pretty face and propose to them?”

Sansa’s covered her face with her hands, her eyes betraying her smile. She closed her eyes.

“This is real?” she asked.

“It’s more real than anything I’ve felt before,” he said.

Sansa dropped the hands from her face and beamed up at him. Gendry felt his heart beat against his rib cage. Sansa reached up and wrapped her hand around his, and nodded.

“Me too,” she said. She stepped in closer to him, and pulled his mouth down to hers. After the kiss, Sansa broke out giggling. It was infectious.

“You haven’t even said anything!” Gendry laughed. Sansa threw her arms around his neck, and Gendry braced himself to catch her weight.

“Yes,” she breathed. “I love you too. Yes,”

Gendry let out a laugh of disbelief, and kissed her. He placed his hands on her waist and pushed her away, and took her hand in his. He pushed the ring up past the second knuckle, and let it go limp in his hand. He admired the ring before Sansa pulled her hand up to inspect it.

“You made this?” she said in disbelief. He nodded. Sansa smiled and lowered herself onto the pile of clothes, reaching her newly bejeweled hand up to him. He let her pull him down, and settled against her. Sansa climbed atop of him and rested her chin on his chest looking up at him.

“I will be the wife of the best smith in Westeros,” she smiled.

“’Best’ is a bit of a stretch-“

“No,” Sansa cut him off and held up her ring. “The best.”

He smiled down at her.

“Alright,” he said, running his fingers through her hair. She smiled, and adjusted herself on top of him. She let her cheek fall against his cheek.

“I’ll make lemon pies,” she said suddenly. Gendry looked up at her, but her eyes were on the stars. “and sell them at the market.”

“Will you?”

“Yes,” she sighed. “And you’ll run a shop. And we’ll have a small house on the edge of town.”

Gendry closed his eyes as he indulged in her fantasy. He saw the two of them in front of their small house, in simple worker’s clothes. He imagined Sansa with a round belly.

“And children?” he asked impulsively, Without skipping a beat, Sansa answered.

“A girl first,” she said.

“And then?”

“Another girl,” she smiled.

“Alright,” he smiled back.

“Maybe one boy,” she said. “Just because you’re so devilishly good at seducing me,”

Gendry felt himself tighten under her. She felt it, and laughed.

“Come now, don’t you know where babies come from?” she giggled.

“I do,” he said, letting his hand fall onto her back. Sansa’s big blue eyes turned from the sky and considered him. She roll onto her belly, letting her chin once again sit at the center of his chest. He wondered if she could feel the hardness pressing against his trousers

“So two girls, and then as many boys as you can talk me into,” she smiled.

“If last night’s anything to go on, it shouldn’t be too hard.”

Sansa crawled up the length of his body until her face hovered over his.

“No,” she smiled. “It shouldn’t be,” and kissed him.

 ..........

 

Y’all my computer deleted the first draft of this so I rewrote it tonight for you. Loveeeeee yall  


	8. Chapter 8

 

 

When Gendry was a young boy, he saw his friend die.

He and Tomlin must have been only four or five years old, tossing a ball back and forth by his mother's shop. It had been a bright day with the sun bearing down on the two children and nearly blinding them as they tried to follow the arch of the ball with their eyes. Tomlin’s bouncy blonde curls caught the light with each dramatic jump he took to catch the ball. Gendry remembered laughing.

Tomlin threw the ball back to him, and as Gendry reached up, the sun got in his eyes. The ball soared past his waiting fingers and into the street behind him. Tomlin trotted after it, his little legs picking up speed as the ball continued to roll across the cobblestones. He remembers the funny bounce of the ball as it rolled. Everything happened so quickly.

            The ball came to a stop in the middle of the street, and Tomlin bent forward to pick it up. As he bent over, Gendry saw a large black shape in the corner of his eye. Before he could recognize what was hurtling towards his friend, part of the thing took the back of Tomlins head and slammed it into the ground. Bright yellow curls erupted with a brilliant red. His skull has cracked open like an egg, pink yolk running down the stones as Gendry stood on the side, frozen, watching the ball roll from Tomlin’s limp hand and towards his feet.

            Gendry can only faintly remember what came next: the two other horsemen and their mounts whizzing by, trying to capture the man who had just ran down a child. The cries of Tomlin’s mother as she ran out into the street and fell on her knees, trying to scoop her son’s head back together, willing her cure to bring him back. The street had dissolved into chaos around him, but Gendry stood there. All he could see was the red.

            That day he learned that nothing slows down for you. Happiness can turn to tragedy in a violent, sudden twist. Gendry never thought he’d have his heart broken like that again, until the morning he woke up with one arm around Sansa’s shoulder, and another being yanked above his head.

            Gendry shook his head as someone pulled his other wrist behind him. His eyes snapped open when he heard Sansa shriek somewhere below him.

            Petyr had a grasp on her wrist, and had pulled her up just as forcefully, if not more so, than Gendry’s captor. Petyr’s knuckles turned white as he gripped her.

            “Stop,” Gendry managed before something hit him across the jaw. Before he could open his eyes, another blow landed from the other side. Behind him, someone quickly tied his wrists.

            “Stop it!” Sansa screamed. Gendry managed to open an eye and see her head bobbing over the shoulder of the stern looking guard who had knocked him across the face.

            _What’s going on. Where am I. What-_

Gendry looked up and saw the foggy morning sky. He looked around the room, and remembered the night before. Rings. Kisses. Babies.

            _Oh._

            “Let him go!” Sansa screamed again. Her voice brought him back to reality, and he jerked against the man behind him who was holding his wrists back. His assailant turned back to Petyr, who nodded. Another blow caught Gendry across his left eye. Another on his chin.

            “Enough,” Petyr’s clipped tone rang through. The man in front of Gendry moved out the way, allowing the much smaller Lord to come forward. Behind him, the man caught Sansa’s arm, holding her in place as she looked over at her betrother in horror. Gendry spat blood on the floor.

            “You disrespectful little cretin,” Petyr seethed, taking Gendry’s chin in his hand and yanking his head up. Gendry groaned, but kept his jaw clenched. Vision out of his left eye was blurry, but he tried to keep eye contact.

            “You think because the King fucked your whore mother that you can treat her like some common slut?”

            “I _wanted_ to come here,” Sansa yelled back. Petyr ignored her.

            “How foolish I was, with my grand vision of reuniting the stag and the wolf, a promise made so many years ago. Bastard or no, I thought blood would account for something,” he hissed. “But I suppose not. You can take a dog from the city streets but they still carry the same disease.” He dropped his hands from Gendry’s chin.

            “Take him to the gates and leave him there,” Petyr said to the man behind him.

            “Don’t you dare!” Sansa shrieked. Both men turned their heads back to her. Through the blood filling his mouth slowly, Gendry couldn’t help but smile.

            “Don’t _I_ dare?” Petyr asked.

            “ _Yes._ ” Sansa spat back. She jerked her arm away from the guard, who held fast. Determined, Sansa pressed on, holding Petyr in a lethal gaze. “I am Sansa Stark, heir to Winterfell, daughter of Eddard and Catelyn Stark and the rightful Queen of the North. And you will _not_ take him away.”

            A beat passed, and for one, naïve moment, Gendry thought Sansa’s outburst had shocked Petyr into submission. However, the mood broke when Petyr let out a small laugh.

            “You stupid girl,” he said, walking towards her. “You can spew titles prettily but forget one thing: you’re no one here, unless I allow you to be.” He turned back to the man behind Gendry and jerked his head. Immediately, Gendry felt himself being pulled.

            “Gendry!” Sansa cried out. She wretched away from the guard and made for him, catching him in a hug. Gendry let his head fall to her shoulder, catching her scent. _Gods, at least let me remember this…_

            The man pulled Sansa back. Her hand flew up, and she tried kicking him in defiance. He brought a hand down against her cheek, and audible smack echoing across the walls.

“Sansa!” he and Petyr cried out in unison. Cradling her cheek, Sansa looked at Gendry from where she had fallen on the floor. Before she could move to him, Petyr grabbed her arm and jerked his head to the guard that had just hit her.

            “Get him out of here!” he snapped. The man stalked over to Gendry and began helping his fellow muscle push the heir to Storm’s End through the small, stone tunnel.

           

            They didn’t get Gendry out of the castle without a fight. At the end of it, three men were needed to pull him from the hiding spot he and Sansa had found, all while she screamed for him in the back. When he was finally over the fence and badly bruised, the man who had been punching him earlier drew a long sword from his side, and tapped the tip of the blade under Gendry’s chin.

            “Recognize it?” the guard smirked down at the bloodied man at his feet and smiled. “You should, you made it.” he chuckled before something darker fell over his eyes. “Now get up.”

            With the blade under his jaw, Gendry stood up, holding the man’s gaze. With a flick of the man’s wrist, he motioned for Gendry to turn around. He obeyed, and felt the metal press into his back as he began walking down the stairs.

            The man motioned for Gendry to open one of the doors at the very beginning of the stone stairs. Grasping the ring, he pulled back and looked down another flight of stairs, suddenly aware of where he was going.

            “Well, go on.” The man said.

            Steeling himself, Gendry began to walk. When they reached the bottom, Gendry felt a heavy push on his shoulder, indicating he needed to turn right. A few more paces down, the guard pulled a door open, and shoved Gendry inside. Careful not to lose his footing, Gendry bent his knees and kept his feet parallel. When the door slammed closed behind him and the heavy clunky lock had been turned, Gendry dropped his shoulders and looked out at the expanse before him.

            _So these are the skycells._

 

            Two days passed without food or water. Gendry had positioned himself with his back against the farthest corner, feet braced against the slight incline. His wrists had chaffed raw from his ties, and his mouth was dry from the thin air. He fell in and out of sleep as the hours ticked by. He dreamed of red.

On the morning of the third day, he awoke to the sound of the lock turning. The door pushed open, and Gendry saw the same man who had imprisoned him enter his room.

“You look like shit,” he said.

Gendry said nothing.

“Well, get up, time to leave.” The guard turned to walk out of the cell door, obviously as uncomfortable in the skycells as he was. Gendry pushed himself up against his corner, giving his legs some time to stretch out. Carefully, he walked towards the open door, only to be jostled down the hall and up the same stairs he had descended only days earlier.

 It was obvious that they weren’t going to leave with anything besides the clothes on his back. He was marched straight past the forge and his room, past the library, down through the main hall and out onto the large, winding stairs that led out of the Vale. With an aggressive jab in his back, Gendry began walking down the flights. Their footsteps, falling in and out of sync, echoed in the silence of the foggy morning. Gendry ignored the ache in his bones, the headache splitting his skull, and the blood filling his mouth. All he could think of was how he was going to get his captor’s sword and run it through him.

            Once they exited the main gates, the man told Gendry to turn around.

“You’re not going to let me go, are you?” he said nonchalantly.

“And they say bastards are stupid,” the man smiled at him. “Right, I’m not completely without honor. How do you want to do this?” He held his sword up to the light. “I can gut you right through, or- ”

            The man’s sentence was interrupted by the large object that collided with his head. Immediately, he fell before Gendry, falling face down into the grass, a small trickle of blood pumping steadily from his wound. Gendry turned to look for the murder weapon, finding a misshapen sharp stone at his feet.

            “I always hated him,” a voice called from his left. Swiveling, Gendry took in the sight of the climbing girl who had helped him find the gems for Sansa’s ring. Mya smiled at him before dropping down to pluck the stone from the grass. “Right bastard, this one. Always grabbed my arse during climbs.” She tossed the stone in her hand, smiling to herself. Gendry felt his mouth fall open.

            “Want me to get that?” she pointed around him. Remembering he was still tied, Gendry turned his back to his savior and felt as she made quick work cutting his ties. Freed, he rubbed the welts on his wrist.

            “Where’s Sansa?” he asked, his voice croaking.

            “Baelish left with her, said he was going to take her somewhere else,” Mya shrugged. “You should have some water,”

            “I have to go find her,” Gendry bent down and plucked the sword from the dead mans side. When he stood and turned to walk, Mya caught him with a hand.

            “No,” she said. “You look like you’re about to fall over. Petyr already went into town and told them he’d pay 500 gold crowns if they returned you to him, dead or alive.”

            “I thought I was already dead,” he kicked the guard beside them. Mya shrugged.

            “He didn’t get to be the Lord of the Vale by leaving loose ends, did he?”

            Gendry sighed and looked toward the main road.

“If the reward is 500 crowns, then why are you helping me?”

Mya smiled. She stood a few good inches below him, but Gendry had no doubt she could hold her own against any man. She was muscular and broad, and her laughter, while light, carried something deadly in it. He could hear it as she laughed now, her guttural, strong cackle sounding so much like his own.

“Oh, dear little brother,” she said, running her hands up to ruffle his hair. “Baratheon bastards have to stick together. Haven’t you noticed how many people want us dead?”

......

Mya took him to her modest shack and propped him on the straw mattress in the corner. Over the next few days, he would try to ask her as many questions as he could about where Sansa had gone, and, when she reiterated, again and again, she didn't know, he began to brood. 

"Oh stop sulking," she said one evening as she was fixing stew. From his sick bed, Gendry sneered at her. "We'll find her. Nobles always keep track of their high-priced cunts," she smiled. Gendry sat up immediately. 

"Don't say that about her," he snapped so ferociously that Mya physically took a step back from him. 

"I was kidding. Bloody hell, guess that temper is pretty strong in the blood, eh?" she held out the bowl of soup as if it were a peace offering. "We'll find her, Gendry. Gossip spreads faster than fire. 'Alayne Stone' has been officially unmasked as the King of North's little sister. Whole bloody kingdom's probably out looking for her." Gendry took a spoonful into his mouth as he considered his options.

"Where should we go first?"

Mya plopped down on one of the wooden chairs and turned to face her brother. 

"Well," she said. "If you were trying to hide something valuable, where's the last place everyone would look?"

..................

Ah shit sibling team up?? Going after your true love??? Horses running kids down????? I watched Quest for Camelot too many times as a kid. 

Thanks for any kudos and comments!! I love them. Feed me and tell me I'm pretty. 

as always, thanks for reading. 


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First off, I want to begin by saying I'm not super happy with how the last chapter came out. It was rushed and, tbh, felt a bit convenient, but I realized where I wanted to go with this thing and was a bit impatient to get to the crux of the story.   
> So, sorry for the shoddy craftsmanship, and if this all seems a bit rushed. Forgive me? I promise it's only so we can get fluffier and cuter. Deal? Alright. On we go!

Five years. 

He notched another line at the back of the book and ran his fingers over the subtle bumps of the tallies. 

Five years. 

Gendry lay back on the itchy mattress and looked up at the ceiling. Outside of his room, he heard small feet running up and down, and giggles crying out. He turned on his side and looked at the wall. 

"Uncle!" little fists beat on his door. Gendry reached up and pulled the pillow over his head, wishing them away. It wasn't that he didn't like his niece and nephew, but today he wasn't in the mood for their shrieking laughter or grabby hands, begging him to throw them over their shoulder and carry them outside. 

" _Unnnnnncle!"_ Mira let out a whiny cry, and Gendry's heartstrings tugged. 

"Not right now Mira," he cried out, lifting the pillow off his head for a moment before diving back under. Outside, he heard Mya's motherly tone. 

"Let's let Uncle sleep, yes?" Gendry could see his half-sister motioning the kids along in his mind's eye. Mira was probably pouting but listened. He heard the little girl's feet pad down farther, her little brother doddling after her. 

After a moment of silence, he heard Mya's knuckles rap on the door. 

"Hey," she said softly. "Do you need anything?"

"No," he called back. 

A pause. 

"We're going to the market today if you'd like to come." she offered. "If not, we'll see you around sundown."

"Alright,"

With that, Mya left his door, going down to corral her children. Gendry held the pillow over his head, half-pretending, half-daring to smother himself. 

Five years. 

.....

When they left the Vale, they had a good trail. The people in the village had seen the party roll through and pointed them in the right direction. Despite Petyr's cunning, even he couldn't bribe every drunk in every village to pretend they never saw his face, nor the carriage he traveled with. Mya, who never struck Gendry as particularly outgoing, seemed to flourish in her investigation. It wasn't unusual for, during that first week, Mya to sashay into whatever camp they had made, proclaiming she had new information to share. For a while, the information was good. 

Along the way somewhere - Mya thought it was somewhere in the North, Gendry argued they were going south - they picked up Taryn. Only a year older than Gendry, Taryn drifted from village to village working odd jobs. Once a sellsword in Kings Landing, the war had driven him to seek other opportunities elsewhere. Rail thin with bright red hair, Gendry did a double take when Mya led the man back to their camp. 

"This is Taryn," she said, plopping down next to her brother and poking at the rabbit he was roasting. "He said he saw them, and he'll help us if we share camp and food." 

Gendry didn't know what to make of the man at first. He was quiet and his features seemed so sharp he was almost intimidating. As the weeks went on, however, he began to open up. He made small but cutting jokes under his breath. He was a good hunter. Around Mya, he was talkative, even sweet, and made her throw back her head with booming laughs. It didn't surprise Gendry when, one morning, he saw Mya crawl from the opening of their new companion's tent, hair dishelved and clutching a handful of wildflowers. 

"He gave these to me last night," she said as an explanation when she saw how Gendry's eyebrows shot up. He nodded at his sister and turned back to sharpening Taryn's sword. 

So it went on. The first year was promising, if frustrating. Leaving the Vale in the winter meant snow days and snow-ins. Once, they were so hindered by a blizzard they spent all their savings for three nights at an Inn, and then another three weeks working there for a bit of money. This would be a constant roadblock in their travel - what little money they had was spent quickly and earned slowly. Progress was often a step forward and stumble back. 

Spring was spent trudging through Highgarden on what turned out to be a false tip from a city drunk. Gendry knew, somewhere, that she wasn't in the glorified rose bush of a country, but bit his lip and wandered loyally from town to town, asking if anyone had seen two people matching Sansa and Petyr's descriptions. By the time the harvest had come, they had made it to the very Southern shore of Highgarden and decided it would be best to rest for a month and work at some of the local shops.

A month turned into a season, as Gendry now found himself going against a strongly allied couple. Whenever he brought up the idea of moving, Mya would frown, claiming the roads weren't safe during the winter and they would be best served if they stayed and worked, saving money so they could move faster once spring came. Taryn, stern and quiet, always agreed with Mya - probably, Gendry thought, because she scared him only a bit. 

When the second spring came, Mya's stomach began to swell. Despite her condition, Mya pushed through, never openly discussing her growing belly until both men had to put their foot down. When they arrived in the Iron Islands after hearing about Theon Greyjoy and Jeyne Poole's arrival, Taryn and Mya wed quickly and the three found a small shack to stay in until the babe arrived. Gendry asked around, eventually getting to have a quick conversation with Asha Greyjoy when he spotted her at a bar, but she had no information for him either. 

"When we left, Winterfell was Bolton run," she said. "Never saw head nor tail of a Stark,"

Mya gave birth to a girl in the middle of Winter. Mira had bright blue eyes and dark black hair like her mother and was loud, giggly baby almost immediately. Even with the sleepless nights and the vomit without warning, Gendry loved his niece. When he had heard that Winterfell had finally been returned to Stark hands, Mya was ready to pack the child up and accompany her brother. He refused, saying that she needed to stay somewhere stable, away from the war. He would go alone. 

He tried to, at least. Two days into his trek north he encountered a camp of Lannister soldiers. He managed to evade them, hiding in the small hole created by a precariously leaning tree and it's massive roots. He hid in his small space for three days, daring himself to leave but remembering the list that carried his name on it all those years ago.

When the soldiers passed, he made to keep walking but fell ill almost as soon as he left his hiding space. A blizzard had rolled in, coating the landscape with a heavy blanket of snow and a constant flurry of snow. When he arrived back, he practically stumbled into Mya's arms. Taryn had to carry him to his old cot, and the two kept him there for the next week as he vomited into the bucket by his bed and fell in and out of sleep. 

The spring of his third year brought strange news of dragons in Westeros. The last Targaryen, aided by the bastard son of Ned Stark, had begun to cross the narrow sea. Mya was jumping for joy, practically, begging her husband and brother to leave and go to King's Landing to watch the ships come in ("Dragons! Can you imagine it?"). Gendry and Taryn abruptly shut down her proposal. 

When the fighting made its way to the Iron Islands, Mira was starting to walk. The small family quickly packed up and left their shack in the middle of the night. A month later, while they were working their way North, Gendry learned the town they had called home had been torched in the early morning after their departure. He held his niece tighter as they continued on. 

Just before the harvest, Mya's stomach began to grow again. Taryn, perhaps finally realizing that his family was getting too big and too vulnerable to have on the road, made them stop at one of the more southern towns on the Northern border. He quickly found a job serving as some stuffy minor Lord's personal security, promising to bring Gendry one day to court in hopes of getting word to Winterfell. The man, a Lord Durshell, was a plump but good-spirited man. He said that he had seen the Queen (" _Queen?"_ Gendry remembers balking) months prior when Winterfell was reclaimed. He couldn't remember if there was a man with her. When he saw the worry in Gendry's eyes, he smiled softly.

"She looked safe, son." was all he said. 

Gendry wrote letters, and Lord Durshell let him use his aviary to send them. His childlike scrawl had improved over the years, but he was still embarrassed tying them up, wishing he could write neater for her. 

Whether she got the ravens he had no idea. Almost as soon as the family had settled, another war came to the north. White walkers, they called them. Long freezes overtook their home for days. Families around them starved, and there was no doubt that this would have too had Taryn not been working at the Lord's house. Fighting the urge to go join the recruits, Gendry stayed behind. He found work in a shop, repairing and forging weapons out of the cheap metal they villagers and soldiers had to work with. He wrote a note to Sansa almost every week. 

When Mya gave birth to Erik, the war reached its height. On the good days, when there was some light outside and the snow stopped, he heard the news. King's Landing had been burnt, and the Lannister's were retreating. The Dragon Queen had come home to claim her throne, and more and more larger houses were supporting her. 

Stark was one. 

Before Mira had even lost her first tooth, it was over. The ashes had settled and the common folks were left picking up pieces of a destoyed nation. The white walkers had been pushed back, leaving only nightmares and memories that would evolve into legends and myths. Mya was cross with them, as apparently the dragons had a good deal to do with ending the long winter ("We could have gone to go see them!!" she had said, with one babe balanced on her hip and another tugging at her shirt). True, Gendry had seen one of them flying overhead during one of his many walks through the village. He didn't tell Mya, though, as she was angry enough when Taryn returned one evening claiming he had heard one of the dragon's caws. He just smiled and continued working, waiting for the dust to settle. 

...

There was a knock at the door.

Gendry pulled the pillow off his head and glared up at the wall. Cursing, he pushed himself out of bed, hobbling over to push through his bedroom door and make for the front entrance. Another rapping came, more urgent this time. 

"Yeah, I heard you," he called out. Rubbing his eye with the butt of his palm, he pulled the door open and looked at his visitor. 

A broad-shouldered man stood before him, dressed in the uniform of Northen soldiers. Gendry's heart skipped a beat for a moment, before seeing that the man held an envelope in his hand. 

"Is this the home of Mya and Taryn Irons?" he asked. 

Gendry nodded. Mya Stone and Taryn Flowers had decided to take the new surname, inspired by their wedding location.

"And are you Taryn Irons?"

Gendry shook his head. 

"I'm Mya Irons brother," he said, still wary about giving out his name to men in uniform. 

"Gendry Waters?" the man asked. 

Gendry's back straightened. He blinked a few times before answering, still trying to find his words. 

"Yeah," he said finally. 

The man held out an envelope to him but didn't wait for Gendry to open it before speaking again. 

"Your presence has been requested at Winterfell by her majesty Queen Sansa Stark. I have orders to retrieve you." he looked over Gendry once again. "I have a horse for you. Gather your things. Probably put on a shirt, too." 

The man turned on his heel and made for the two horses Gendry just now noticed were standing in the meager yard of the house. He ran his fingers over the envelope, looking down to see his name neatly scripted on the front. 

He brought his hand up and squeezed the small bird charm that hung down to his chest. 

_Finally._

 


	10. Chapter 10

He threw a shirt on and wrote a quick note for Mya, telling her he had gone out. Once outside the man ushered him to the second horse he had brought with him. Gendry climbed up, quickly, still feeling a bit like everything was going to dissolve right in front of him. He stared down the black neck of the horse, his eyes blurring the ground. 

"Hey!" the man beside him snapped. Gendry popped his head up and turned to look at him. He was older than Gendry by some years, but couldn't have been over thirty-and-five. He was a handsome man, tall with dark skin and tightly coiled black stubble and hair. Dark freckles dotted across his face. 

"Sorry," he said, taking the horse's reigns up. 

"Are you ready to go?" he asked impatiently. Gendry noted the clipped, Northen noble inflection of his voice. _Not common folk, then._

He gave the man a stiff nod. The man turned the horse and began to trot down the main road, kicking dust up in his wake. Gendry kicked the horse's side slowly, urging him to hurry up. 

"Didn't catch your name," Gendry called and he caught up to his companion. 

"Lord Percy, Captain of the Queensguard," he said. He kept his eyes on the road and reached out to shake Gendry's hand. Gendry took it, shaking it awkwardly. 

"Did the..uh, Queen tell you what this was about?" he asked, trying to keep an even tone. Percy shook his head, pulling the reigns up and they started to go down an incline. 

"No," he said. "Only that she wanted me to take it,"

Gendry nodded, and turned his attention back to the road. A beat passed, and Lord Percy spoke up. 

"Must be important," he said casually. "She usually sends scouts to do this sort of thing," 

Gendry felt his eyes bearing in his side, and looked back to see his companion looking him over. 

"We're old friends," Gendry said, feeling the man's suspicion. "I knew her in the Vale,"

Percy's eyes relaxed as if satisfied with the answer. He turned his attention back to the front, scanning the horizon.

"She's a good woman," he said. "Good leader. Smart."

"I remember," Gendry said. 

They rode in silence for the next hour, stopping to water the horses at a small stream. Climbing back onto his mare, Gendry saw Lord Percy gestured for his attention. He pointed up to a small blip on where the land met sky. 

"It's clear enough you can just see it," he said. Gendry squinted his eyes and leaned forward. In the distance, he just made out the shape of a blocky structure. Winterfell. 

"Won't last long," Lord Percy broke his trance, riding forward suddenly. Gendry knocked his foot against his horse, urging her to fall into step. Once they were back on the main road, he turned to see Lord Percy looking up the massive white sky. "First snowfall is soon."

"Didn't snow in Kings Landing," Gendry said, looking up at the big expanse. "Never really cared for the stuff,"

"You sound like my mother," Lord Percy retorted, smiling at his fellow rider. "Not a day would pass when she wouldn't remind me and my siblings that it never snowed in the Summer Isles," 

"Your mother and I would be fast friends," Gendry said, pulling the extra horse blanket he had commandeered a little tighter around his shoulders. 

The ride passed quickly, and as Winterfell appeared bigger and bigger Gendry felt his heart race faster. He readjusted his grip on the reins, feeling that his palms had begun to sweat against the leather. 

"Are you feeling well?" Lord Percy asked. Gendry swung his head around to look at him. They were only minutes out from the gate and had slowed their horses to a slow walk. Gendry felt a snowflake fall into the space between his neck and tunic and he twitched from the cold. He felt light headed and placed his hand over his chest, disbelieving the rate his heart was beating. It felt like ever hair in his body had been plucked out at once, leaving an electric sensation crackling under his skin.

"Mate?" Lord Percy reached his hand out and placed his hand on Gendry's shoulder. Their horses stopped. Gendry swallowed despite his mouth being dry. He took in a deep inhale, held his breath, and breathed out. 

"Should I get someone?" he heard the other man ask. Gendry opened his eyes and laughed- illness wasn't so readily treated at home. Mya was so inept at nursing people, and her bedside manner left things to be desire. When he had a similar episode a few years earlier, she had held a warm towel to his forehead while asking repeatedly 'what the fuck' he had had to eat, not believing him when he said it just _happened_. 

"I haven't seen her in five years," he said in a pained voice, looking up at the castle gate. 

Lord Percy didn't react to Gendry's tone, processing the entirety of the man next to him without conveying his emotion. Gendry felt the air shift around them. 

"I'm sure you'll find her in good health," he said. "Her Grace has spent the past four years bringing the South together and getting rid of all those bastards down south. Crops have turned around thanks to her maester's studies. People's house are being rebuilt quicker that we were managing on our own. We've even been seeing direwolves again." 

Gendry's eyes bugged out at the news. Lord Percy laughed. 

"It's the strangest thing. They aren't vicious. They keep to the forests and hunt there. Some children have even played with them."

"I'm sure their parents love that," Gendry said, thinking of how Mya would probably be more jealous than anything if her tiny daughter got to frolick in the snow and ride on the back of a direwolf. 

"I don't know how the Southerner is going to stand it," Lord Percy smiled. They had begun to slowly walk their horses forward. 

"Southerner?" Gendry asked. 

"Her betrothed," he said. "Heard it was a deal made between houses during the war, covered up to keep both sides safe cause one house was 'officially' for the Lannisters and Freys and like. Very star-crossed lovers, if you ask me."

Gendry felt a black hole open in his chest cavity. Trying to avoid another episode, he pushed the cloud of emotions out of his mind and asked in a casual tone. 

"Which house?"

Lord Percy shrugged. 

 "She doesn't say. Wears his ring, though,"

Gendry's spirits perked.

"'His ring'?" he asked, trying to mask the enthusiasm in his voice. 

"Yeah. Pretty thing, too. My wife loses her mind over it. She thinks it's romantic." 

"I thought every woman got a ring," Gendry said and they came to a stop at the front of the gate.

"Yeah, well, not all men have enough time to handcraft it. She told my wife that story once when they were sharing wine and now I have to hear it every time she gets too into her cups. What kind of fairness is that?"

Before Gendry could respond, Lord Percy craned his neck back and yelled up.

"Tell the Queen I've returned," he said. An affirmative grunt came from one of the troops lining the gate before his head disappeared as he left. The other whistled to some unseen person on the other side, and slowly the gate began to rise in front of them. Gendry felt his heart drop into his stomach. It felt like a million little needles were pushing out from inside of him. He tried to summon his will to calm his nerves, but it only exacerbated the gut-churning feeling. 

"Are you going to get off?" Lord Percy called from below. Gendry looked down to see the man looking up at him expectantly. He threw his leg over the side and slid off, landing in the snowy mud with a small  _squish._ He readjusted the strap on his satchel and looked around.

It was a large keep and looked as ancient as Sansa had made it sound in her stories. Soft flurries of snow floated down lazily, most melting before they hit the ground. It felt like a place stuck in a dream. 

Lord Percy led him away from the horses, positioning them to walk towards the stone steps that led to the main hall. Outside, men were training and workers were going about their chores and trades. 

"It'll be up this way," Lord Percy said, keeping his hand on Gendry's shoulder as they began to walk forward. 

From the corner of his eye, he saw a sudden movement. Turning his head away from the door, he found himself staring down past the forge and worker's stalls and in the direction of the large archway the connected the gate to the maid castle. Letting his gaze fall, he saw a tumble of red hair standing out against a pack of grey and darkly-clothed men. 

Without a word to her companions, she picked up her skirts and starting running. One of the men, a smaller Lord in some sort of wheeled contraption, called something out to her as she began to pick up speed. Her hair had gotten longer, and her skin a little paler, but it was really her. He broke away from Lord Percy, a tight smile threatening to break out on his face. He picked up his pace a bit, but not quite matching hers. The hem of her long blue dress was getting muddied with each step, and quickly more details came into focus as they neared. Her cheeks were pink from running. Her eyes were brighter than ever. Her lips were rosy. 

Just as Gendry opened his arms she crashed into him. She pulled him tightly, clutching his shoulder blades with her fingers. He reached up to grab a fistful of her hair, burying his face in her neck. 

_She still smells like Lavender and cold air. Like I remember._

Sansa pushed away from him then, trailing her hands up from his back to his face, cupping his cheeks gently. He smiled and reached up to cover one of her hands. 

_She's still beautiful. Gods what does she want with me?_

A luminous smile broke out across Sansa's face. She ran a thumb along his cheek. 

"Are you really here?" she whispered. He nodded, and she let out a small sob, pulling him against her again. They stayed like that for a moment, caught in each other as everyone surrounding them moved about, poorly pretending not to notice the scene in front of them. Their Queen -  _the Queen -_ running through the mud and throwing her arms around a strange man in such a hysterical fashion? He pulled back and leaned his forehead against hers, ignoring the obvious on-lookers. Sansa opened her eyes to look at him again, and her face scrunched up.He reached down and took her had, fearing she was about to cry. He felt something cold and hard on one of her fingers. He smiled to himself and pulled her into another hug, burying his face in her neck. 

_Finally._

........

Hey guys, thanks for reading, kudo-ing, and being awesome! I'm trying to write some more stuff every day to get better, and the comments and feedback have been incredible. Thank you!

 


	11. Chapter 11

He remembers feeling tugged, but not moving his feet. It was as if he was floating into the small room off the courtyard that she pulled him into. Wait- not small, there's a staircase, a hallway- she turns his face to her before he can continue taking in their surroundings. The one window about them casts down a cone of light that makes her look like a deity. He reaches up and takes her hand, pulling it to his mouth to kiss her fingers. 

Then he notices it. 

He can tell by the feel-smooth, high-quality metal. Carefully assembled by an uninvested third party, some lucky smith who had the advantage of steady, sweat-free hands and a normal heart rate throughout it's crafting. 

He pulls her head down gently and looks at it. She bites her lip. 

"It's shiny," he finally says. 

She feels her heartbreak. 

"I have so much to tell you."

OOOOOOOOOO

It happened in the middle of the night. She had refused to dine with him the entire day after, not trusting him not to drug her food or drink, or that he wouldn't use their first meal together after such an incident to dramatically tell her how high of a rock he planned to throw her finacé from. Instead, when the lock finally turned on her door, she stayed in bed. Even as her stomach growled into the night and the last servant came by to try coaxing her from her bed, she remained stubborn. 

"You've been requested, m'lady-"

"Is he hurt?"

There was a pause. 

"Who?"

"You know who. Gendry Baratheon," she dropped his surname, hoping to command some respect with his infamous surname. "Where is he?"

The girl stuttered. She was new. Sansa fought the urge to smile. 

"Where is he?" she asked more aggressively. Just as she expected, the girl jumped at her more acidic tone. Petyr hadn't had time to train this one- he probably hadn't even hired her. He wanted everyone in the castle to fear him above all others, but a legend of a great man can only garner so much fear in the moment. An angry woman screaming in your face has much more immediate results. 

"They took him to the sky dungeons," she spat out dutifully. 

Sansa clenched her jaw and turned to look at the foot of her bed. 

"Thank you," she said softly. She suddenly felt bad for having snapped at the girl. "Please tell Lord Baelish I cannot attend this evening."

"Yes, m'lady." she said, ducking out. 

Sansa sat on her bed for a while, staring out the window by her bed. She tried formulating a route to the sky cells. Not tonight. Probably not for another week- she needed him to trust her again, or at least pretend that he was trusting her again. She knew how he liked to hide his informants, and how to get around them. 

She finally moved from her bed and reached for the pouch of water she kept between the mattress and the bed frame. She unscrewed it and chugged the water down, only somewhat resenting the fact she didn't go to dinner. Water could not fill a stomach, no matter how much she drank. When the pouch was empty, she threw it down by her feet and huffed. 

It was going to be a long wait. 

 

So imagine her surprise when she woke up in a carriage. 

It took her a moment to realize where she was, and why her bed was moving. When her eyes opened, her view was still clouded by the syrupy confusion of sleep. No...she wasn't awake? This wasn't right-

"You're up," a clipped voice said from her left. She turned her head slowly. She didn't feel strong. She tried to speak but felt her throat was dry. 

"That should clear up soon," Petyr gestured to her throat. "Side effect, unfortunately." 

Sansa coughed. It felt as if her lungs had been filled when sand. 

"Wh.." She managed to croak. Petyr held his hand up. 

"Please, don't try to speak. You'll only wear yourself out and then it may be another week until you're up again-"

  _A week?_

 _"-_ suffice to say, you're not as good at hiding things as you think you are. And one must always have a back up plan."

Her water pouch. Before he came to tear them away, he must have put something in it. 

She hated herself, but she felt the corners of her eyes prickle. 

"Please, don't," he said. "Your body needs the moisture to work out the toxins."

 

.....

 

He didn't need to say why. 

It's one thing to plan a grand scheme, but it's another entirely to see it play out before your eyes, seeing the deaths and unions you once charted on paper become a brutal reality. On some level, she knew Little Lord Baelish couldn't stand to see his dear Cat get married off to another man a second time. 

His reason, he claimed, was because he had found a more advantageous marriage. Sansa wondered if this was true in some capacity- five years later, she couldn't argue with the results- but could never convince herself that this was the majority reason he had drugged her in the middle of the night and carted her away. 

She couldn't ask him if he had killed Gendry. She didn't think she could stand the answer, with so much death in her life. Foolish as it was, she fell back on he love of stories, and grand knights, and fairytales. She chose hope over certainty, something she thought she had learned not to do by now. 

When she met Harry of the Vale for the first time, she was underwhelmed. His hands were soft, and Sansa did her best not to frown and he laced their fingers together the first time he took her for a stroll around his keep. She missed calluses and gentle caresses from tired, strong hands. Harry's hands felt like they belonged to someone who had never had real worry in their life. Even his nails were pristine. She felt inadquate when she saw the two of their hands side by side- her chewed fingernails and mangled cuticles spoke for her private anxiety. 

She pretended to be the giggly girl he wanted fawning over him. Whether or not Petyr was fully convinced she had forgotten Gendry and moved on, proving herself to be he flighty girl he secretly considered her mother to have been and quietly loathed her for it. Or maybe he knew it was all a front, and that's what made him feel so much better. Knowing that she was living through his misery, forced to cover up her heartbreak with pleasantries and courtly behavior. That was probably it. Knowing she was rotting inside the same way he had would have undoubtedly given him more joy, and why he eventually allowed some of his defenses to lessen. 

So silly that he would break one of the first rules he tried to teach her. As if she wouldn't have noticed, the first time his eyes didn't linger on her as she left his presence or how he allowed for the guards outside her chambers to be lessened from three down to one. 

It had been easy enough to slip past the guard after one of the larger feasts Harry threw for one of his hunting party's victorious returns. The man was asleep against the wall, snoring softly when Sansa poked her head out. From then, it was a matter of pinching her cheeks and working herself up for a performance. When she found Harry, hunched over a scroll in his study, she allowed herself to fall into the part. 

"C-Can-n-n I talk t-t-t-o you?" she asked through sobs, mimicking the way his young natural daughter spoke to him after she skinned a knee or had her feelings hurt. Another one of Petyr's lessons. Know their weaknesses. 

Her little trick worked, as Harry pressed up from the table, a distinct look of paternal concern across his face. 

"What's wrong?" he asked. 

.....

Unlike most noble lords, Eddard Stark had loved his daughters fiercely. He did not see them as pawns in his political games, nor did he view them as burdens or thoughtless wastes of resources. He loved Arya's spirit and Sansa's imagination and heart. He let them know often. Harry was cut from the same cloth. 

 He adored his- he would sometimes even ask one of the servants to bring him a comb so he could run it through her fine blonde hair, twisting it every way playfully as the little girl screeched in the mirror she held before her, chiding him for doing her hair wrong. His eyes sparkled whenever he saw her little body toddle into view, and had spent many a council meeting with his daughter on his lap, drawing on paperwork or snoring softly against his shoulder. 

If Harry loved his daughter half as much as her father had loved her and her sister, then it would fall together. 

And did it. 

After she had come into his office weeping, playing the modest girl who couldn't articulate her trouble for fear of looking improper. Only gentle caresses and reassurances could coax it from her- well, I suppose if you  _must_ know...I can't  _imagine_ being any trouble...Oh please don't think  _less_ of me, I couldn't bear it. She exaggerated some parts and didn't describe Gendry in detail, but she knew the moment she had stumbled into his space crying and finally allowed herself to whisper his name that the fire was already stoked. Good fathers cannot abide the idea of any man hurting a woman- someone's  _daughter -_ in any fashion. Sansa should have done this months earlier. 

Petyr's death was quick and in his sleep. Unlike her mentor, Sansa saw the folly in drawn-out explanations of plans. She knew this was the death that would make Petyr the maddest- one he would never be aware of, the one with so many questions. When Harry came back with the bloody knife and hands, she felt a sick sense of satisfaction. 

_Just like my father. Taken from this world at the hands of people manipulated into doing your dirty work._ _Only I won't give you the gift of spite and reflection._

When she went through his things, she didn't find any information regarding Gendry's fate. She wrote to the Vale constantly only to be ignored for months. It was only when Harry made the move to claim the place as his own that she discovered that the executioner that had been killed "by that bastard and her brother" had also worked as the Master of Ravens. 

Elated as she was that Gendry had escaped, she faced another pressing issue. Harry had grown more  _impatient_ during their long engagement. A year and half and one dead body in and he hadn't gotten more than a chaste kiss from her. Sansa tried making excuses as much as she could. He was begrudgingly respectful with each one, but she knew that one day his patience would tire. 

The second year it had been the war. Taking her home back from the Boltons and securing the Stark's hold in the North. After the dust of the battle had settled, she brought up a second point. Relations with the Iron Islands need to be fixed if there was any hope of uniting the seven kingdoms again. King's Landing was under the threat of invasion. She would not bring an heir into this world. 

So Harry dealt with it the way most men of his birth did: he drank, and fought, and fucked. Sansa didn't care about any of it- as long as it wasn't her who he had under his body, breathing in his ale soaked breath, she was happy. She even caught herself hoping he would impregnate another woman, so she could have reason to call the wedding off or at least put off the wedding even more. If she could just find Gendry, then she could make an escape.

He had given her the ring after Danyers had taken the throne. She couldn't bear to tell him why her hand shoke as she removed her old one and slipped it into her pocket. Like Harry himself, the ring was shiny, high quality, and golden. But it wasn't what she wanted. Wasn't who she was anymore. 

When Harry was away, she wore Gendry's ring. Under the security of her false relationship, she began to tell other women in the court that her handmade engagement ring was actually made by their good Lord. She got a flutter in her heart, pretending she was living in the world she was meant for, before Baelish changed their minds. Yes, my husband, Lord Waters. Perhaps you know him as Lord Baratheon? He prefers Waters, really. He made me my ring, would you like to hear the story?

It wasn't much, but it was enough. She had tried pulling a scout or two aside, asking them to pick up on any leads on a dark-haired smith traveling through the King's Road, but after one died following a tip in the Iron Islands, Sansa stopped her requests. Jon had just sent news from the wall warning of a new threat, and as much as she wanted him back in her arms, she could not risk the lives of her people on her personal errands when there was a catastrophic threat looming to the North. So she promised herself she would begin her quest again when the war ended. 

Unfortunately, killing the undead is not a quick procedure, nor is the clean up. Even more frustrating was Harry's renewed sense of passion in their relationship, and his urgency to get married. Sansa felt guilty the night she left the dining hall, where his daughter, now older and just as gregarious as her father, rambled about how happy she would be with Sansa as a step mother, and how she longed o play and care for all the babies that were sure to arrive soon. Under the night sky, she stole away to the lodgings of her Queensguard captain. Ser Percy and his wife were her most trusted of confidants in Winterfell, after her brothers, but somehow she didn't feel comfortable telling them her plan. Not just yet. 

Ser Percy was dedicated to her. Sansa adored him, and adored his wife. She had been embarrassed to ask such a favor of him, especially as the North was rebuilding, but he sensed her guilt.

"Your Grace," he said gently. "It is not selfish to seek happiness after all you've done for the North." 

So he asked questions during each tour of the healing townships. He followed leads. So many times Sansa had gotten her hopes up, eagerly running to the gate when she heard the horn sound, praying she would see a second rider with her friend. But after the first few times of excitement and then bitter disappointment, Sansa couldn't do it. She informed the guards to only inform her of Ser Percy's return when he was accompanied by a second party. Other than that, she didn't want to be bothered. 

Maybe she couldn't blame her men, then, when Ser Percy's return was heralded wih more yelling than formality. She had been outside with Bran when the notice came -

"Percy is arriving with a second rider! Alert the queen!" 

She barely had time to think before she saw him. Rounding the corner and smiling with Ser Percy. He was broader, older, and more rugged than she remembered. She did remember and recognize the familiar heat pooling between her hips when she looked at him. He had only gotten handsomer.

When she was a girl her mother had told her how important it is for a lady to control her emotions. That personal outbursts of joy, sadness, or anything in between was to be kept in private, only discussed with close relatives, friends, or even just oneself. Sansa couldn't remember why all that was important- not when he was there, finally  _there_ \- after all these years of planning and writing and pining. She had expected sadness, she was used to it. So when she had hitched up her skirts and lept over the small set of stairs, down into the mud, and raced towards him, she wouldn't allow herself to question it. So many years of death and backstabbing and loss...and yet he survived. 

She collided with him, throwing her arms around his neck and pulling him towards her. 

_Everything fell apart, but here we are in the heart of the destruction._

She breathed in his scent. She remembered visions of starry nights, broken glass, and crumbling stone. A ring made of scrap metal. Scribbles on old prose. A sharp, small rose. 

_We've built so much from broken things. We won't stop now._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay! But I thought I'd drop something on Valentine's day...seemed appropriate.   
> School has finally chilled out so I have a *little* more time on my hands. Hopefully, the updates will come sooner. I can't promise but there is a way of encouraging!!  
> hahahah  
> <3


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So...some ~mature stuff~ at the end

They had stolen away to a small study that, he assumed, Sansa had claimed precisely for it's out of the way location. The structure she had pulled him into was older, and it was apparent she was the only person who spent time in it. Now, he sat staring at his hands, trying to process everything that she had just recounted. 

"Gendry," she said gently. "Say something,"

He laughed because he just had to. 

"Do you ever feel like the gods just like messing with you?" he said, sending her a sad smile, finally meeting her gaze through itching eyes. 

She nodded.

Slowly, she pushed up from the cushioned ottoman she sat on and came to stand between his legs. Without thinking, he pressed his face against her midsection, running his hand up to hold the small of her back. Her fingers went through his hair. 

"All the time," she said softly. 

Before he could respond, a horn from outside blew. 

Sansa swiveled her head towards the door and, nicely as she could, broke their half-embrace. 

"Harry's back," she said. 

 

Gendry followed her out of the small tower, trying his best to stand up straight and mimic the way she held herself. She was so confident, strolling out like nothing had happened- as if servants hadn't seen her throw herself at some strange, low born man, and then hastily drag him up to her private room without an explanation. 

 

Sansa broke into a wide grin as they came to stand before a barrel-chested blonde man. With all the proper grace of a lady, she dipped into a small curtsey. 

"My lord," she said sweetly, and Gendry nearly fell in love with her again. "You've returned."

Harry's eyes flicked between the two of them as he took off his gloves, his mouth open as if he was readying himself to say something once he had all his thoughts in the correct order. He swung his leg off of the mount he had been perched atop, and walked forward to kiss his betrothed on the cheek. Gendry pressed his nails into his palm. 

"My lady," he said, casually taking her hand and looping it through his arm. He nodded to the man in front of them. 

"A friend of yours?" he asked. Sansa broke out into a grin again. 

"As luck would have it," she said. "the son one of the smiths my father favored. We grew up together," she sent him, what he knew to be, the fake, loving smile of a noblewoman recalling with fondness her time as 'one' of the lower class. A taste of regular life noble girls so often coveted- but only ever a taste. Gendry had seen it in the eyes of countless lords and ladies who had visited the smith in King's Landing, old friends of his employer who looked at the aged man with nostalgic pity for the time they existed outside the barriers of class. Of course, they never actually stuck around or helped when the two of them couldn't afford repairs, or when business was slow because of a new artisan all the elite were obsessing over. In broke Gendry's heart that she could mimic it so well. 

"Well met," Harry smiled at him, relaxed now that he believed he wasn't a threat. He reached out and shook Gendry's hand- more than any other nobleman had done, at least since Eddard Stark- and his eyes were alight with the excitement of a puppy getting a new cage mate. Gendry felt his chest tighten. "Any friend of a Stark is welcome at Winterfell. What do I call you?"

"Lucas," Gendry answered without missing a beat. "Lucas Snow, my lord."

"Snow?"

"A bastard father passes on a bastard name," Gendry shrugged with a smile. Harry barked laughing, throwing his head back.

"My lord," Sansa pulled from his hold and stood in front of him, eyes round and pleading. "I had thought Lucas perished during the war. By the grace of the gods, he survived, but his business," she shook her head. "I would be dishonoring my father's memory if I did not help him now."

Harry raised a hand, a pleased look stretched across his face. He was smug, sure he was about to say the words that would make her day, confident the idea was his alone and not planted by her. 

"Say no more, my love," he said. "He will be employed as our royal smith immediately,"

Sansa let out a girlish shriek. 

"Oh, darling, really?" she clapped her hands before throwing her arms around his neck, pulling him into a fierce hug. Harry, pleased with himself, held her tight before patting her back and turning to the men in his party, who had been awkwardly sitting on their horses as the whole scene played out. 

"At ease, gentlemen," Harry said with a kind dismissive wave. Then men began to disassemble their party's caravan, leading horses away and hauling packages to and fro. 

"If you two will excuse me," Harry said, turning back to Sansa and Gendry. "I believe I have a certain princess that missed her Papa. Why don't you show Lucas the forge?" Before Sansa could answer, a girl's shriek filled the courtyard, and Harry jogged off excitedly. Sansa tugged at Gendry's hand, looping her arm through his and leading him away from the reunion and the man slowly wheeling himself over to where they had been standing. 

 

From a small, forgotten door at the back of the Winterfell forge, Sansa led him down into the catacombs. No one besides her, and occasionally Rickon, came down here anymore. Bran's contraption couldn't take the stairs, and he only acquiesced to being carried when they were laying flowers at their parents' statues. Harry was afraid of small spaces. 

With the door closed behind them, Gendry turned to talk but found himself pressed up against the door, with a warm mouth on his. 

"Sansa-" he tried to say, before she began tugging at the ties of her dress, causing his all the water in his mouth to suddenly evaporate. 

"shut up," she said, kissing him again, messily and desperately. Gendry let his hands fall to her waist, pulling her closer to him. Without breaking apart, Sansa pushed his hands towards the back, urging him to untie the laces. 

He pulled away. 

"Sansa-"

"I said shut up," she pulled his tunic impatiently, pawing at it like a cat. He pulled it over his head and tossed it to the ground. Instead of meeting her as she propped on her tiptoes again, angling for a kiss, he dropped to his knees and moved her to switch positions with him.

With her back pressed against the wall, she looked down at him curiously. Determined not to lose his nerve, he reached his hand up her leg and yanked down a stocking. Sansa let out a small yelp, but when he looked up, she smiled at him through a half-covered mouth. 

He sent her a smirk before diving under her skirts. 

"What-?" Sansa started, but her sentence died at the back of her throat as the man under her hooked a leg over his shoulder. Her skirts were heavy, enclosing him in a dark, warm space that was entirely her. He pulled the string of her small clothes and felt one of the leg holes break apart as he kissed her thigh. The garment ghosted down the leg that was keeping her upright against the wall, and he felt her skin raise with goosebumps as he breathed higher up against her inner thigh. He pressed an open mouth kiss there, feeling her press herself against the side of his face. He smiled and licked a trail down where her leg met her hips, trailing along the line where her small clothes had been cutting into her V. She shivered as she felt his breath, and then his tongue. 

She was Queen now- not in the way they had planned or hoped, and she deserved more than to be pressed against a wall (in what he was just now remembering was her family's crypt) having her cunt tongued by one of her bastard citizens. There should have been a wedding dress on the floor. Candles. Little irritating petals left atop the marriage bed by well-meaning friends sticking to their sweaty bodies and she claws at his hair. 

But all that evaporates when he hears her breath his name and grasp through her skirts at his hair. She wasn't  _his_ Queen in the way he had wanted, but she was  _the_ Queen, and Gendry was all too happy to prove his new-found patriotism.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So uh...yeah. Reunion cunnilingus?   
> Next chapter, whenever I get to it, will be equally spicy.   
> Thanks as always for reading :)


	13. Chapter 13

His days went like this:

He woke up before dawn to eat whatever the kitchen staff had left out from the night before. Usually, it was some hard bread only made harder by the cold night air. If he was lucky, there was maybe some fruit left over from the previous night's dessert, and he could swipe it before any of the domestic staff could. He only felt marginally bad about this- they got much better meals and didn't have to sleep in a small freezing shack. 

After a hurried breakfast, he opened his shop. If there were any new projects that needed his attention, he piled them to the left side of his workbench, promising to make room in his schedule to begin one or two of them before the day was up, if he had any time. Most days, he did- after the war had ended, the majority of his work concerned repair an upkeep. In truth, he almost missed the business the previous years had imposed on him. Now, he was lucky if he got to make a sword and not a horseshoe. 

Still, there was enough work to be done, and it wasn't as if he could complain. He got to take breaks around noon and always managed to have near everything done by the time the sun finally set. The rest of the evening was his to do what he pleased with, whether it be an independent project or picking back up with his reading lessons. 

And there was her. 

It was probably two weeks since their 'meeting' but her neck still turned pink he was around. It made him feel a giddy pride. You'd think he had taken her over a barrel, filled her with twins, made her unable to walk for weeks, the way she reacted to being around him, rather than just giving her a long, very warm overdue kiss between her legs. Not that he hadn't wanted to, but they hadn't had the time - there had also been a lack of viable barrels in the crypt, but he figured he could have found something to substitute. But whatever anxieties that had flared after he had pulled her skirts back over his head, leaving his mouth deliciously slick with her had vanished every time they locked eyes. She wasn't avoiding him, he knew. If the hungry look in her eyes was anything to go on, it was more likely she was fighting the urge to drag him back down underground and finish what they started. But, there were new rules here. They were in the Vale no longer. 

So, he had to settle for the affections these new rules allowed. Namely, there were the books. Every so often he would wander back to his modest quarters and find them there, hidden away like a drunk hid small bottles of liquor. Under his mattress, squeezed in between the fireplace and the wall, even on top of one of the ceiling beams. It made him smile to think of her hiding them, climbing up on his bed to toss them up or crouching down to place them in some cramped, tight space. If he were lucky, he would come in only moments after she had left, and her smell lingered in the air. Cold, but spicy. Like a cider in the winter. 

So when Harry finally,  _finally_ was leaving Winterfell again, he couldn't keep his heart from beating out of his chest. He tried to keep his eyes on his work all day as Harry's men came by, picking up requisitions and dropping off swords to be sharpened and shields to be hammered out. His hands shook as he worked. When they had finally all come to collect and began to pack up the party right in front of him, it took all his willpower to keep from smiling. He even bit his cheek, trying to keep his expression neutral, somewhat focused. But when the royal couple finally strolled out, the bright, radiant queen ready to see her betrothed off, it took him a moment to remember that he was supposed to be saddened by his future ruler's absence. 

"I'll be back within a fortnight, my darling," Harry called to her as he climbed atop his horse. Sansa stood on the steps and smiled on, Harry's small daughter clinging to her hand. She lifted a fair hand and waved. 

"Good luck," she called. "We'll miss you. All of us."

Harry gave her a wink before turning the horse to lead his men out the front gate. Beside her, Harry's daughter began to cry. 

"Oh sweet," she bent forward and hefted the girl up onto her hip. "It's all right. He'll be back before you know it." 

The small girl fisted her eye. "I know," he thought he heard her say. "But what if he's hurt?"

"He won't be. He has  _very_ fine armor," 

"I don't know."

"Would you like to see it?"

The little girl nodded. Without warning, Sansa's eyes found his, and she smiled, causing his heart to burst in his chest. 

"Well I know just the man who makes it," she said, and began to lead the girl over. 

 

He was proud to say that a child approved of his designs. 

"This seems  _real_ strong," she said, bringing a small fist down on the chest plate.

"Ser Gendry is very good at his job," Sansa said, keeping her eyes on the girl. Even now, she avoided his gaze, too afraid her color would betray her. 

"Daddy will be very safe," the young girl nodded. She turned to Sansa. "Can I have a sweet?"

Sansa laughed. "It's not yet supper!"

"I kno--owww." the little one sing songed. 

Sansa crunched her nose, as if she were thinking. Gendry wanted to lean forward and kiss it. 

"You know," Sansa said, bending down to her level. "I believe Martha is making lemon cakes tonight."

The girls eyes widened. 

"Lemon cakes!" she squealed. 

"Mmm-hmmm," Sansa said. "And I bet that if you go and help her, she  _may_ let you have one a little early."

She need not have said anything else. As soon as the child had heard 'lemon cakes', she had bolted through the tent flap, disappearing on her way to the kitchens. Sansa stood as the two laughed before finally, finally turning and looking at him. Her mouth closed into a shy, close lipped smile. Her face flushed. 

"Hello," she said. 

"Hi," he smiled back, like an idiot. They stood there for a moment, caught in their feelings. 

"I- I've been finding your books," he said. 

"My books? I haven't the faintest idea what you're talking about." she giggled, giving herself away. Gendry wondered if his heart could grow any larger, or if his rib cage would burst. 

"Lemon cakes?" he asked. "I don't think I've had those in about...five years?" he sent her a knowing smile. Sansa giggled. 

"I'd say about five years," she bit her lip before he walked forward, ushering her into a hidden part of his work shop. He put his hands on her waist as her arms reached up and wrapped around his neck. He felt drunk off of her, like he had when he had been a young man. She made him giddy. 

"I'm sorry I've been away," she whispered. "I've wanted to come and find you..."

he shook his head. "It's fine...It's fine," he caught her chin between his thumb and forefinger, tilting her mouth up to catch a kiss. Sansa pulled him in closer, deepening the kiss. When they broke, she rested her forehead on his. 

"I can find us some," she said quietly. She flicked her eyes up to his. "If you can wait until tonight?"

"Are you sure?" he asked. "I don't want to get you in any trouble."

She shook her head, lacing their fingers together. He ran his thumb over the back of her hand. "I think I could manage. Besides, we need to talk."

"That sounds..."

"Nothing ominous," she smiled, and gave him another peck. "Nothing bad. Nothing." she pulled him in for another kiss. He reached up behind her and laced his finers in her loose hair, pulling her closer and causing a happy squeak to vibrate against his lips. 

"You could just stay here," he said, nibbling down her throat. "No lemon cakes needed."

"No dessert?" she laughed. He growled. 

"I can think of something sweeter."

She flushed red and pulled him up for another kiss before bringing his hands to her lips. She kissed his knuckles. 

"You're wearing my ring," he said, catching her finger. She blushed. 

"Harry doesn't notice." she smiled. "and it's my true ring." 

He smiled. "Tonight, then?"

She nodded. Against every impulse pumping through him, he dropped her and let her adjust her hair. They walked towards the entrance together, where Gendry held the oilskin up for her. 

"Thank you for letting us interrupt your work, Ser Gendry," she said, loud enough for anyone around to hear. Falling into his manners, Gendry nodded. 

"Any time, my lady." 

She began to walk off before spinning around, sending him a cheeky smile. 

"Oh," she said. "And later, remind me to tell you what else I need done in the crypts." 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Eek! Sorry it's been so long, life got in the way, but the comments have been so lovely and brought my attention back to this!


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